Nightmares & Maladies
by Eland Vary
Summary: Darcy was never normal. Now she's moved in with her cousins, the Bennett's, and finds herself in the epicenter of legend and fear.
1. Chapter 1

**Only gonna say this once; I DON'T OWN RISE OF THE GUARDIANS! I own Darcy and any other oc characters later on. Please review, I need to know what you like (or don't like) and I'd love to hear your recommendations about where to go with this fic. Thank you, hope you all enjoy.**

Jamie's parents first tell him that his cousin Darcy is coming to live with his family, in their, so far unused attic, 3 days before she's due to arrive.

Jamie, who'd been prepared to go see Jack at his pond with Sophie, looks up from his breakfast cereal and stares at his Mother. She looks out the window, frowning.

"Why's she coming to stay?" Jamie asks, and she stops washing the dishes.

"Darcy…is having some problems at home." After her father died she stayed in Ireland for some time, and then moved to their old home on Lake Michigan. For whatever reason, she spent 6 months in California, on the coast, and then moved to Alabama to stay with her mother's relatives, and now she wants to move here, with them, in Burgess, Virginia.

"Sounds to me that she's got a gypsy soul." Jamie's father said out of nowhere

"Why didn't she come here first?"

"Well, I don't know, Jamie, maybe she's got her own reasons. You can ask her when she arrives, alright?" Jamie nods and thinks back to when he last saw his cousin.

Darcy is 8 years older than Jamie, and mentally, she used to be even older. Not because of intelligence (Darcy wasn't just smart, she was a genius, it had seemed to him when he was younger), but because of her sheer imagination. His cousin could tell the most wonderful stories when they were little; her vocabulary was larger than most children's, adding to the effect. They were very close when Jamie was younger, but after Sophie was born, he never heard from her.

At the end of his Mom's pregnancy with Sophie, Jamie's parents had to spend two weeks in the hospital. Darcy had been on winter vacation, and had flown out to stay with him (she didn't want to stay home, she said to his Mom, because her parents were at each other's throats).

They'd had a great time; Darcy showed him how to make shadow puppets, how to tell the differences in nearly identical, unlabeled spices, and had showed him how to make the best snow forts! Darcy taught him how to grease up the bottom of his sled so that it'd go faster, and to get water on the track before you go sledding so that it'd ice down and be that much more risky! But, most of all, Jamie remembers Darcy first telling him about Jack Frost.

Jamie grinned; Darcy, inadvertently, was responsible for introducing him to his best friend.

"Can you handle having her around for a bit?" Jamie's Mom asked, worriedly. He nods and grins; he can't wait to introduce her to Jack.

"Sure! I can't wait to see her again, it'll be just like before!" A shadow crosses his Mom's face and she gives him a sad look.

"Jamie, dear, listen. You have to understand that…some things can change." He nods, not knowing what to take from this. Darcy was…she used to be his idol. Once, if he can remember correctly, he asked her to marry him (he was maybe 4 at the time); Darcy had giggled and explained to him that she was a _little_ too old for him, and to ask again in…say 14 years, if he still felt the way he did.

"Alright."

His Mom smiled and dried her hands on a dish towel. "What are you planning to do today?" Jamie grinned.

"I want to take Sophie sledding. Can I, Mom?"

"Just be careful dear." Jamie grins.

"Don't worry, I'll keep her safe."

(line)

Jamie and Sophie wait for Jack in the woods by his pond, and Jamie is so happy to see his friend and give him the news that he doesn't mind the customary snowball-to-the-face that is Jack's greeting.

Sophie plays in the snow drifts as Jamie tells Jack everything about Darcy that he can remember.

Jack is tickled as Jamie relays to him that Darcy was the original one who made Jamie believe in him; that _she_ might be a believer, his _first_ believer.

"Wanna come with us to the airport to get her?" Jamie invites, still excited.

"I'll follow the car," Jack gestures to the frost on his hoodie, and Jamie blushes, feeling beyond stupid.


	2. Chapter 2

**Welcome to the second chapter of Nightmares & Maladies. If you're one of the people who reviewed, thank you! I'm glad this story is already getting a few favs! Review, I love suggestions!**

By the time that my plane pulls into the airport, I'm about ready to rip the throat out of the passenger beside me; an immense, fat man the size of a tank that's been cursing out the poor flight attendant since the plane took off.

I've got no problem with a person's weight, but this man disgusts me. He's been treating everyone rudely (including myself), and he smells like stale grease, body odor, booze and cigarettes; not to mention he doesn't seem to understand that _other people are sharing the seat next to him_. I keep getting jabbed with his elbow, or he steps on my foot.

But, as much as the violent images in my mind are placating, nothing good can come of them, so I sit back and try to ignore him as he continues his bull shit.

"How _long_ do we have to wait? This is _ridiculous_!" His _voice_ grates on my nerves, and I tap my fingers on my knee.

"Are we _done_ yet?" The fucker is worse than a kid, I swear.

My mind drifts to my younger cousins. I can't wait to see them. Or, in any case, see Jamie, and meet Sophie.

Part of me is glad that I didn't come see them sooner; too much was going on with me. I was too inconsistent, and I needed to adjust and learn some things about myself. But the larger part is disappointed in my decision; Jamie was like a brother to me; nothing but eyes, he was always the sweetest little guy around, and it physically hurt to be separated from him like this.

When we were little, Jamie and I usually got stuck together during family functions. Being older than him, I was annoyed at first, but I eventually liked having him tag along after me. Jamie worshiped me like a brother would; he was up for almost anything I suggested, but he wasn't intimidated by my hair trigger temper (never used on him, only on others); he begged me for my stories, eagerly absorbing everything that I told him and remembering it like a little sponge.

Aunt Amelia seemed pleased when I called her. There was a dark fear, as the number was put through, that they'd moved. That they wouldn't pick up.

"_Hello?" Amelia's voice, a bit more aged than 3 years ago, came through the phone, instantly soothing my nerves more than anything had._

"_Um, Aunt Amy? It's, it's Darcy." There was a brief pause, just the static of the connection._

"_Darcy? My God, how are you, honey?" I smiled, relief washing over me; this was Aunt Amy; the one who gave me a sanctuary in the summer when my parents fought, and trusted me with her son. "It's been…almost 3 years, how have you been?"_

"_I…I'm good I guess. Do you have time to talk?"_

"_Always, Darcy. You just had to call."_

When I finally managed to admit that I wanted to move to Burgess, and asked if they had any room, she had been ecstatic, immediately volunteering their attic. She told me that since the family wasn't using it, I could stay there as long as I needed. I took her up on the offer.

Maybe I should have gone back to California. I miss the midnight surfing, and the salty sea air as it enfolds me like a blanket. I miss the rush of riding the waves and of feeling like I've finally done something.

But I'll miss Anderson, too. My mother's people were warm and gentle and wild; they helped me recreate a semblance of social skills after my time as a hermit, healing. They accepted me, turning up on their doorstep out of nowhere. I'll miss the smell of the fire at night, and the sound of us sharing stories, the twang of the instruments, and the smell of my oils and charcoal as I tried to capture everything that I felt.

The man next to me jerks, embedding his elbow into my ribs. Not prepared for it, I let out a hiss.

"Excuse you." He sneers. At this, I lose it and turn to face him.

The whole flight, he hasn't looked at me, not really. Now he has no choice, and I see the color drain from his face.

I know how I look at the present, but I don't care.

"Look, either shut the fuck up or go stuff your face; you've been treating these poor people like shit, and if you put your hands on me again I'll rip out your fucking tongue." I tell him pleasantly, meeting his dull, pebble like eyes without effort; he flinches, and I take some amount of joy in that as his eyes flit from mine.

People have always been uncomfortable meeting my gaze; Mom used to say that it was because I don't have 'peripheral vision'. I look things head on, and I don't look away. I _can_ see out of the corner of my eyes, but when I see something, I have a tendency to over focus, and it makes people uncomfortable. It has drawback, but I'm also like a lie detector; almost no one can stand to lie to me and look me full in the eye.

"How dare you-" A thick, sausage like finger, is jerked under my nose, and I grab it tight, he cries out a bit, and I feel the strain of his bones as I tighten my grip.

"Put your hands on me again, and I'll risk getting sent to prison for murder, you piece of garbage." I narrow my eyes, and notice he's craned as far from me as he possibly can be, consider his size, and that of the seat.

"_Passengers, please proceed to the front of the plane and thank you for flying…"_ Fat man was up and booking it down the aisle; he better not have any luggage, otherwise it was getting left behind.

(line)

It's freezing.

I make my way into the airport, relishing in the icy burn as the wind cuts into my face and makes my glasses fog up (I put them on as I got off the plane, big mistake). My hands are shoved deep into the pockets of my leather jacket, and I curse myself for forgetting how cold winter gets in Burgess.

The airport's insides are relatively clean, as far as they can be, anyhow. It smells of course; it smells of tired people, fast food (there's a McDonald's inside), and an unclean bathroom. Ah, the wonders of air travel.

Baggage claim isn't as much of a nightmare as I thought; people are being respectful, and being very nice about the whole thing. Maybe it's because Burgess isn't a popular place to land…

I have two bags, two suitcases and a heavy backpack; they have everything that I need. I pick them up, adjusting to the extra weight without much trouble and moving to the crowds of people waiting for their loved ones.

(line)

Jamie is twitching in excitement as he, Sophie and Mom wait for Darcy (Dad is at work, unable to get time off to see his niece) in the airport, bundled up against the snow.

Unseen to anyone but Jamie and Sophie, Jack stands behind them, leaning on his staff and watching the people eagerly; he's never gotten used to the thrum of activity that has come with the current era, and, despite himself, it's fascinating to watch all of these people interact with one another. He'll never get to do it himself, and, when in the midst of a crowd, he can pretend that he's one of them, and not invisible.

Jamie holds his breath as a tall, thin young woman with thick, dark hair approaches, loaded down with bags, and looking hesitant.

"Darcy?" Mom asks, in shock, she smiles, and there is the old face of his cousin.

Darcy is no longer the angular tomboy; what had once been all knees and elbows and straight limbs, she has finally grown since they'd last met. There is little left of the girl she had been, replaced now by a young woman with a voluptuous body, and the face of a brooding foreign film star.

Her skin was still surprisingly pale, save for her face, which is flushed from the cold outside; her time in California and Alabama seem to have done nothing to give her the tan nearly everyone finds popular at present, but there can be no denying the deep olive undertones in her skin. Dressed in a black leather jacket, form hugging jeans, and combat boots, Darcy looks…intimidating, almost. The thing is, it isn't her attire that inspire the fear, exactly; Jamie can't exactly voice it, but it's not her clothes.

Jack though, knows what it is immediately. He's older than Jamie and Sophie, and can name why Darcy looks fearsome, or unapproachable.

Her eyes.

Darcy's eyes are large and almond shaped; framed by thick, heavy black lashes, they are a color that, to the common glance, is closest to muddy green. But Jack sees the emerald swirling with the hazel, explosions of gold near the pupil like tiny stars, exploding into being. They're beautiful, no doubt, and anyone could be captured in that gaze. Those eyes are expressive, he can tell as much, they're the true way to tell how Darcy will feel on any subject, and right now, he knows that she's seen far too much for someone her age.

"Hi, Aunt Amy." And then Jamie can't help himself, he's got his arms around Darcy, and holding her as tight as he can; for a moment, Darcy seems surprised, but she smiles and sets down some of her things, before leaning down to hug Jamie, before kissing his forehead.

Just like that, Jamie can see the awkward teen she had been, and in her face he can see the memories and burdens she's been forced to carry with her for who knows how long.

Sophie follows her brother's lead and approaches the strange lady in black, sucking on her thumb. Darcy looks down at the little blonde with unmanageable blonde hair and pure green eyes. Without warning, she snatches Sophie up, tossing her in the air, making the young girl laugh wildly.

Sophie wraps her arms around Darcy's neck and buries her face in her new friend's neck; she likes her already; this lady is nice, and she smells good.

"Hi, I'm Jack." Jack waves, but Darcy doesn't acknowledge him. Jamie looks disappointed.

Jack, although he's used to the loneliness, can't help but feel the sting.

Darcy can't see.

She doesn't believe.


	3. Chapter 3

**Okay, hope you all enjoy this, sorry that the chapters are so short, I'll work on it as best I can. Reviews are appreciated so much more than ya'll know!**

**Um, I looked this up, and there **_**is**_** a city/town/whatever in Virginia, and considering that Virginia was in the original colonies, I figured that's about as good a place to pinpoint a location as any, but I'm not sure completely. **

**Jack's sister's name was never actually spoken; Pippa is Jamie's friend and second believer in Jack, and Jack died when he was 17 (looked this up too), but he is, officially 318 years old.**

**REVIEW OR FACE THE WRATH OF PITCH BLACK! (Is anyone wondering, offhandedly, if he's related to Sirius? Random thought!)**

**Buh-Bye!**

Jamie is staring outside the car with such intensity, I can't help but tease him about blood vessels in a person's eye bursting. He stares at me in such horror I laugh and admit that it was a joke. He smiles and I frown; right after I picked up Sophie at the airport, his demeanor changed. He went from beyond excited to disappointed, and I can't understand why.

Aunt Amy drove us to her home, and I'm glad to see that not much has changed.

Jamie's friends are waiting for him in the front yard, and one little girl is wearing a tutu and tights, although she looks like the type that can, and will, chew metal and spit nails. She had a scowl on her face, and eyes me with distrust as I get out of the car.

"Hi guys!" Jamie greets, and then he's immersed in a group of ragtag little kids, all talking excitedly. I smile and adjust Sophie, who's decided that she's so comfortable with me she won't detach from around my neck.

With a bit of coaxing, I manage to get her to adjust so that she on my back, and I can carry my stuff a bit easier.

There was a few things that I couldn't take on the plane with me, but I couldn't leave in Anderson either, so they're in boxes up in my new room. Aunt Amy takes my backpack, but I easily handle everything else, even with a little spider monkey speaking baby in my ear.

As I walk up to the house, Jamie's little friends regard me with cold solemnity and disappointment, their hushed whispers ceasing altogether. The girl in the tutu scowls and glares at me, but I've seen worse. It doesn't bother me.

"Why don't you believe?" She demands, crossing her arms, I raise an eyebrow. Jamie pales and grabs her arm.

"Cupcake, no!" Laughing at her name will be a worse move, so I just continue walking as a small argument breaks out on the lawn in the snow.

Amy rushes to make it stop, but I let myself into the house, and then crouch so Sophie can climb down safely.

There's a thousand memories and ghosts of myself in this house; in the living room I can see the shadows of a Christmas party from who knows how long ago, and a thin, dark haired girl in the corner, ignoring the festivities and reading a heavy book, her face so close to the words her nose is nearly on the page. In this hallway, the same girl, a bit older, helps a toddling boy get on his shoes, while she is in shorts and a tank top; summer sunlight is brightly shining from the windows. In the kitchen, they are making a surprise breakfast, and shrieking in delight as the flour is dropped from the cupboard, the bag splitting open, coating everything in white, like fine, sifted snow.

My muscles lock, and Sophie walks off, clambering up the stairs.

My breath rattles in my chest like a caged animal, and I struggle to remember to breathe as other memories rush into my vision, making my knees weak and my legs tremble. My teeth clench down so hard I taste blood, but other things swim in front of me.

_The smell of open flesh and infection, blood saturating the air as lifeless eyes stare down into mine; cold, stiff arms, once warm and comforting now forming a cage._

_Chemical and medicine and sickness and death and life, all blurred together in the white hospital room, visions of people and places and creatures in colors so real I can almost touch them. I speak to some of them._

_The roar of silence, and a smooth velvety voice in the darkn-_

"Are you alright, Darcy?" Aunt Amy's voice forces me to deal with everything later.

"Just fine, sorry, spaced out a little bit." The kids are outside, I can see them through the open door, talking again.

"Must be jet lag. Come on, I'm sure you remember where the attic is, all those times that you'd drag Jamie up to explore it, even when it was against the rules." Amy smirks, and I laugh, shakily. I can't deny it, I'm too curious for my own good. Jamie and I would go through all the old boxes and trunks that had been in the attic when we were younger (Amy informed me that it was now in the basement, as it was so cold she didn't want me sleeping down there).

"I'm sure I can locate it."

"Let's make sure that you don't get lost, then."

(line)

Jamie stares at his boots as Cupcake tears into him.

"You said that she believed in Jack!"

"She must have! She told me about him!" Jamie defends to the larger girl; they're in each other's faces, shouting now and Pippa looks from one face to the other, unsure of what to do.

Jack is watching the kids, and she takes comfort in knowing that the mischievous guardian will break up the argument if it gets out of hand.

"It's alright, guys, she's too old to believe anyway," Jack tried to comfort, but Cupcake spun on him, her eyes blazing with fury.

"NO! it isn't alright Jack! You need more believers, and it's her fault that she gave up!"

"Yeah! Why do grown ups stop believing!"

"Cowards!"

"Shut up!" Jamie snaps; they all look at him in worry. Jamie never gets angry. But this is his cousin, his older sister almost. "It's not her fault, things happen." Jamie doesn't know all the details, but he knows that Darcy had a hard time adjusting after her Mom died; he can only imagine what she must have gone through with her Dad.

One of the younger children looks heartbroken.

"Jack, _why_ do people stop believing in you guys?" He asks, wiping his nose.

Jack opens his mouth, pauses and closes it. He doesn't know. With him, there isn't enough experience to actually know _why_ they stop, but he decides to ask North, or maybe even Bunny…depending on his mood.

"Um…sometimes…it gets harder to believe, I guess." Jack isn't even convincing himself, so he shrugs and admits, relenting, "I'm not quite sure."

"Wait!" Pippa cuts in, making everyone turn to look at the girl. "We could make her believe!"

"Are you crazy, Pip?" Cupcake snorts, crossing her arms; her nose scrunches up in annoyance.

"Yeah, how do we make a teenager believe?"

"Well…we can work that out on the way, but what other thing can we do? I mean, it can't be that hard to make someone believe, can it, Jack?" Faced with 6 children looking up at him with innocent stares, Jack can't bring himself to tell them about his 300+ years of solitude, despite his blatant signs that he exists. He can't crush their hope in him (Bunny would kill him anyway).

"Of course not! We'll make Darcy believe."

Everyone cheers, and no one but Jamie notices the curious expression on Darcy's face from up in the attic, watching them.

Is it just him, or is she looking right at Jack?

(line)

"Jamie, Sophie and I got everything cleaned out for you, so you can do whatever you like up here!" Amy declared triumphantly, as I stared around me.

The floors are polished and mopped, the beams above me are clean and free of cobwebs, and in the corner is a large, soft looking, new mattress. There is actually a window seat in the window overlooking the front yard, where I'm sitting watching Jamie's little pals.

It's odd, but I can't shake the feeling that I'm missing something, and if I look long enough, I'll be able to figure it out.

"…Neil and I didn't know what kind of bed you wanted, but if you want to pick one out, we can go tomorrow."

"No, the mattress is fine." I interrupt, she looks a bit startled.

"But-"

"I got into the whole Japanese thing in California. I was living in a tiny apartment, with an even smaller bedroom; the mattress saved space, and it was comfy. Plus, no room for monsters." I wink at Sophie, who's staring up at me with awe.

"Well…alright, but if you're sure…anyway, you can do what you like with the décor; just ask and we'll go and get you some paint, or whatever else you need." I shook my head at Amy, raising a hand dismissively. "Why were you living there if the apartment-"

"It was a nice place, really, just small. The rent was fair, and it had a killer view of the ocean. That was the real seller; I would just sit in my kitchen and draw the ocean all day…"

Amy looked at me then, and I realized something; the only time she'd ever left Burgess were for her honeymoon, and to visit my family in Michigan. I'd seen more of the world then she has, and she's jealous…

"I'll tell ya'll about it sometime. I've got plenty to tell now," Amy smiles softly, patting my cheek. "I'll make my own stuff for decoration…there's a craft store around here, right?" Amy nods and I grin. "Then the problem's all settled."

There was a muffled crash, and we look to see Sophie has knocked over one of the boxes that had arrived, and is now inspecting some of my old art projects that I couldn't leave behind.

"Pretty!" Sophie declares, holding up a small canvas of the moor.

My time in Ireland was…just magic; something about the land appealed to a part of me, and I loved going out on the moors to paint and sketch; I spent my nights out there sometimes, listening to the wind moan, and getting in touch with nature.

I'm proud of the Moor Work (As I've dubbed it); I'm self-critical, so any of the work that I've done and keep, I'm extremely proud of. It's amazing though, how a compliment from a 3 year old can really stroke your ego, though.

"Thank you, Sophie. I like that one too." She giggles and goes back to inspecting my stuff. Amy gives me a knowing smile.

"What?"

"You've grown soft, Darcy. Back when you were younger, you were able to pretend _half_ convincingly that you didn't like kids." I shrug. In some ways, I don't like kids; I don't like it when they hit that age where they act like everything belongs to them, and they're the best things in the world. But I love little kids, and I love children. There's a difference.

"I'll make some hot chocolate. Do you want help unpacking?"

"No, you're…" I pause…before smiling a bit. "yes, I would like some help, but you just make some hot chocolate, and I'll take care of it."

Aunt Amy opens her mouth to ask, but then shakes her head. She doesn't want to know.

(line)

Pippa is the first to notice Darcy watching their snowball fight.

She freezes where she stands, and the two girls look at one another; one introspective, the other a bit frightened and in awe.

Darcy doesn't have her coat on, revealing a black V-neck T-shirt, the fabric is interwoven with purple and silver. Pippa is awestruck; for some reason, when imagining Jamie's cousin, she never though that the older girl would look so…gorgeous. No doubt, in Pippa's mind, if Darcy had wanted to be a model, she could have; unlike the models and women her big sister, Lindsey, strived for, with their bones on a porcelain frame look, Darcy was…somehow, more real to look at.

Pippa doesn't quite understand why Darcy is beautiful, but other people do; her body isn't stick thin, it is voluptuous and curvy; she is not slender or small; her shoulders are broad, her stance and expressions defensive. Darcy moves with a kind of grace that is not classic; more of that it is completely at ease with herself and her surroundings than she will let on.

Her hair is like a dark storm cloud, shot through with strands of a deep, dark red, setting off her pale skin, and framing her round face; had she been darker, she might have been a stereotypical gypsy.

But there is more to it, more to _her_, then that. There is something about Darcy that always seems otherworldly.

Maybe it's the faraway look her eyes that she sometimes gets, or the way that her lips quirk up in a smirk every so often, like Darcy knows a secret that won't be told anytime soon. It could be her hands; long, thin fingers and blunt nails, although they can look awkward, when they're at work with her brushes, or stick of charcoal, or playing an instrument of any kind, they suddenly are graceful and patient, and any child that's on the comforted end of those hands knows, instinctively, that they won't hurt.

Pippa doesn't know that, though. All she knows is that Darcy is beautiful, and watching them all with a sly look, and although she doesn't thing that the young woman will hurt her, she doesn't trust her right away.

"Jamie," although her voice is low and quiet, everyone here's Darcy. "How about you and your little friends help me get my room set up?"

"Oh, well…"

"Aunt Amy's making hot chocolate, and most of my stuff isn't exactly of the normal variety. I'm sure that you guys will be interested."

"I'm in!" Jamie shouts, running into the house, Cupcake, the twins and Monty follow, each of them give Darcy as much of a berth as they can, until Pippa is the only one left staring. Hesitantly, she enters the house, and can't help but smile weakly when Darcy grins at her, exposing bright white teeth, and unusually large canines.

High above, though, Jack Frost is on his way to Santoff Claussen to speak with North.

(line)

Nicholas St. North doesn't look up from his designs when Jack breezes into the room on a cold breeze; he's learned in the last year that the best way to get Jack to leave him alone is to ignore him. With a little bit of patience the Winter Spirit will usually go and bother someone else.

Not to say that he doesn't care about the boy, he does, but this new idea for a toy can't be left alone.

"North, I have a question." In Jack-speak, a question isn't often asked, especially not with that tone of voice; Jack's face is curious, but it looks like someone's kicked his puppy, so North sighs and takes of his glasses to look back at the youngest guardian.

"Go ahead, Jack."

"Why do kids stop believing as they get older?" North stares, blinking.

"Jack, what makes you ask such a question?"

"Well…Jamie's cousin, Darcy. She came to live with them today. She used to tell Jamie stories, when he was younger. She told him about me. We all thought she might be a believer, you know. But, she got off the plane, and…" Jack doesn't need to finish, North nods.

North also knows who Darcy is.


	4. Chapter 4

**Hey everyone, glad to see that some of you heeded my warning for the reviews (but more of you didn't and Pitch is ****not**** pleased.**

**Now we're going to get a glimpse of Darcy's past, and I hope you enjoy.**

**Reviews are appreciated for your own safety!**

**Pitch: you've all been warned-**

***Locks him in the closet and jams the door shut*******

**FOR THE LOVE OF GOD REVIEW!**

Darcy Malone.

North sighs and pinches at the bridge of his nose.

Darcy had been one of the first to send him her list as a child every year, and certainly in the top 5 most polite.

A funny thing about North; he has photographic memory, and he can remember all the children that wrote to him over the years; he'd organized everything into a massive file and record room that took up nearly 4 stories and an entire wing of his fortress.

He also knows when the girl stopped writing to him.

"Darcy Malone…there's a name I never thought I'd hear again…" North strokes his beard thoughtfully, and Jack waits impatiently. "Well, Jack, it's easier for children to believe than adults because…well as they get older, they demand more."

"What do you mean?"

"Children's beliefs are pure. They need very little to stay constant but, when they grow and learn more about the world and science, they doubt themselves. They need to be proven that we exist, and we can't work like that. But that's only some of them, I'm afraid." The mountain of a man sighs heavily, and Jack realizes, painfully, how old this man is, and how many children lost their faith in him.

"Others…other children are forced to grow up. Whether their home is not favorable, or they suffer great tragedy, something happens that they abandon their inner child so they will not be hurt anymore, like Darcy had to." Jack doesn't understand, so North stands and indicates that Jack follow him.

North leads Jack past the workshop and testing room, the labs, the kitchens, the guest rooms and the globe room, until he is in a very quiet part of the fortress.

Before them are massive, carved doors easily three times as wide as North, and quite a few times taller.

"Come Jack, I tell you about Darcy." North pushes open the doors, and all Jack can see are shelves of file cabinets and books and scrolls and papers. It's like some kind of library. To Jack, there doesn't seem to be any order, but North obviously has some sort of system because he leaves Jack for no more than a minute and a half before returning with a large file.

There is a single table, and North orders him to sit at the one chair, while North himself goes through to find what he is looking for, before producing a stack of papers from near the end.

"When child stops believing in me, personally, there's a group of yeti who investigate covert to see what happened. Normally is usual; too old, spied Mom and Dad putting a couple gifts under tree, that sort of thing. But poor, poor Darcy…" North tsks sadly. "Good girl, not once on naughty list; one or two fights when she was young, but those were protecting younger Jamie. Spent a lot of time with him…the year Sophie was born, she stayed with him for the Christmas holidays, you remember him telling you this?" North asks, Jack nods, feeling a stone rise into his throat. "Her mother came to get her from the Bennett's. Good woman, believed in me until she was 14. They were driving home when snow storm hit. Total white out. Couldn't see the road. A pick-up truck going too fast veered into their lane. Mrs. Malone saw it too late to do anything other than let go of wheel and shield Darcy."

"Was she-"

"No Jack," North says quietly. "She died on impact, along with the other driver and his passenger. Storm was impassable for almost a day. No one found them until then, when they had to clear roads. Darcy suffered from a serious case of pneumonia and broken arm, a concussion, two broken ribs, one of which punctured a lung, as well as a broken collarbone. Poor dear was in that car, staring at her Mother's corpse that entire time. The pneumonia nearly killed her, she was in that hospital for a long time. At one point, Darcy slipped into a coma for nearly 3 out of it though, and her body recovered, but her? No."

"That's…that's awful." Jack has a horrible thought and stares at North in fear. "Was I responsible for the snow storm?" North chuckles darkly.

"No, Jack. You were in London, icing down power lines." North denies, making Jack sigh in relief. "Sad part not over. Darcy's father didn't understand what to do; his family shattered, and so turned to the bottle. He moved them to Ireland before the problem got serious, but…"

"I understand." Jack whispers, feeling nothing but pity.

"Blamed her for death of Mother. Had she not been coward to hide with cousins, Mother would not be gone. Called her 'monster', and 'murderer'. That was when she gave up belief."

"Jamie never did tell me how her father died. Is that in there?" Jack wonders, North suddenly looks even more sympathetic.

"Yes. But that is not your business, Jack. Now, what is so important about this girl? Darcy has gone through much, yes, but she is no different than others."

"North, she might have been my first believer. Of course she's important, and and…the kids, they said they're going to try and make her believe in me, whatever that means." North stares at the boy immortal.

"Jack, you must understand. Children grow up, they may stop knowing us, but other will take their place. It is painful, but you get used to the fact after a while." North can't tell the boy that it isn't true; that every light that goes out, naturally, feels like a failure as a guardian. Jack doesn't have to know that, he'll discover it soon enough.

Jack can't take that answer; his mind is spinning. He stands up and flies out of the room, leaving North in the record hall alone.

(line)-

The next person that Jack goes to is Tooth, who listens to what he has to say, however, upon hearing the name, she begins grinning brightly.

"Darcy Malone? Ooh! That girl was always such a joy!"

"Wait, what?" Jack asks in confusion as Tooth flits about excitedly.

"I don't get many kids who lose their teeth multiple times, but I remember most of the ones that do!" Tooth was so excited she could hardly get the words out. "She lost 3 different teeth twice, and 2 others 3 times, not to mention they were the sweetest teeth you've ever seen!" Despite the fact that he loves Tooth like a mother, he realizes that he won't get anything more useful from her at the moment, and so settled to wait her out.

(line)

"Darcy, Darcy, what's this?" Caleb asks, shoving a jade colored carved dragon under my nose as I try to take inventory of my things.

"It's a magic dragon that can tell the future on a moonless night, if you listen close." I reply with ease, making him stare at it in wonder.

In truth, I got it from a thrift shop in California. When I got bored and it was raining, or the thought of painting or working made me sick, I invented stories for some of the things that I had lying around the apartment (or hanging from the walls, ceiling, or resting on the shelves). Now I'm glad that I did.

The kids were having way too much fun with my stuff to drink much hot chocolate, and settled instead for me telling them made up fables and histories for some of my things, including: a glass, sphere paperweight with the words _Verba, Pondus Habent_ (words have weight) inscribed onto it; a silk Japanese fan, dried herbs in jars sealed with wax, a bag of strange stones, a bag of smooth stones inscribed with runes, books bound in leather and written in different languages, crystals, burned out candle stubs, candle holders and inking pens and bottles of India Ink.

After a bit of encouraging from Jamie, the kids warmed up to me and began shyly talking to me, and, within two hours they're eating out of my hand, figuratively.

Things are starting to look good in here, and I'm glad that the kids took to helping with such gusto; if there's anything that kids like, it's interesting stuff, particularly if it's old.

Amy wasn't quite sure what to make of everything when she peeked in to check on us and saw a group of 8 and 9 year olds handling my things like they were precious instruments and me detailing their 'histories' to them.

All day we set things up and I adjust and tweak until everything is to my liking; from some of the beams in the ceiling are wind chimes near the window, and chimes of colored glass in other places that cast light on the ceiling above my bed like the Aurora Borealis, dream catchers were nailed above my bed as well, colored glass bottles that may have once held medicine or perfume, of all shapes and sizes and colors, were in the window, and next to the seat is my grandiose pile of books. My easel is in the corner, next to the remaining boxes (clothes, I don't want the kids going through them and pawing into my underwear by accident, or what remains of my jewelry, or, worst of all, my pictures).

Now that the sun has set, and the snow is falling again, Sophie is wrestling with her mother, fighting to stay awake.

Dinner was…quiet…it's not like it used to be, and it dawned on me that things really have changed. My uncle didn't come home for dinner, and an instinct in me, that I'd hoped was dead, sensed an impending argument from Jamie's parents once his father got home.

Funny, how easy it is to smell something like that on the wind when you're older.

Jamie's got no clue what's coming, but maybe Sophie does; she doesn't want to go to bed. Personally, I believe that it's some little kid logic; maybe she thinks if she doesn't go to bed, they won't argue.

Won't make much of a difference to me.

When I worked out the details with Amy about me staying her, I didn't feel the need to illustrate the insomnia I'd suffered since I got back to the states. I was able to sleep okay, but then the nightmares started u, and it's easier for me to just stay awake and work through the night than sleep with my fist to my mouth so I won't wake anyone up with my screaming (that happened in California; the neighbors had called the police and they'd shown up at my door, guns drawn).

So I set up my canvas, and pick out my paints and charcoals for my project tonight, and change into something that could pass as pajamas (black capri sweats, and a black tank top that I embroidered with silver flowers in bloom near the hem). I braid my hair, and then push it out of my face with a deep purple bandana.

"Um, Darcy?" Jamie knocks awkwardly at my door.

"You can come in, Jay-Bird." He's blushing at the nickname from when he was small, but doesn't completely object to it. He looks nervous, standing there in his pj's, barefoot.

(line)

Jamie looks up at his beautiful cousin, and feels, for the first time, uneasy in this room, and about her.

This afternoon, she was simply Darcy Helen Malone; a girl who knew and saw too much, and loved with all her heart. But now, in the low light of the dark, here stood a Darcy he'd never met, one that seemed darker, more sinister, less indulgent and harder to faze.

"I…I just came to say good-night, Darcy." Jamie says, swallowing as he eyes the cluttered shelves; was it only this afternoon that he and his friends had played with some of these things? It seemed longer. But then, everything did at night.

Darcy smiles and kisses his forehead, and for all the world, Jamie thinks she looks like the saddest person that he's ever seen.

"Sweet dreams, Jamie, Is féidir na naoimh a threorú do chodladh agus a thabhairt cothrom aisling go leor, ceann beag leat*." She whispers and then kisses his hair.

"What does that mean?" Jamie asks in confusion, and Darcy just smiles.

"Just a prayer. Go on and get some sleep, I hear you've got school in the morning." Jamie smiles wickedly, and for a brief moment it's Darcy's smile.

"It'll be a snow day."

"And how do you know that, Jamie?"

"Just do. G'night, Darce." And then the boy was hurrying to his room, shivering.

(line)

In the darkness of the world, a shadow brews; it is haunted, it is angry and it knows that it is weak.

Pitch Black, hungry for revenge, and glad to have his powers back once more, slinks through the shadows as he heads to his first destination, knowing just who to hunt first.

_Jamie Bennett._

(End Scene)

*-May Saints Guard your sleep and give you fair dreams, Little One


	5. Chapter 5

**Ah, so glad to see that everyone responded so quick to my last posting- *shadows gag Elder Vary and pull her down, effectively making her useless***

**Pitch: As you all can 'see' your precious author is a bit…preoccupied. So I suggest that you all buckle down and deal with me for the time being. Now, on to business. I've no time for dealing with the likes of you who refuse to comment on the work you're reading. Either review, or you'll suffer dire consequences. Just like the author will for locking me in the closet for so long-**

**Eland Vary: HELP ME!**

**Pitch: Enjoy, hehe.**

What to do, what to do? So many options, so many scenes and creatures in my head…

I stare at the expanse of white, thinking. Is there anything as intimidating as a blank canvas? A blank sheet of paper or even a blank computer screen? It's like it taunts you, begging you to do your worst (or your best, depending on your standpoint).

It's about midnight, the Witching Hour, and, like I predicted, Aunt Amy and Uncle Neil are fighting downstairs, going from the living room to the kitchen and hurling insults at one another. I can hear Jamie and Sophie snoring from their rooms.

"OH, YOU CAN'T EVEN MAKE IT IN TIME TO SEE DARCY!"

"SHE'S NOT A CHILD! SHE KNOWS I HAVE TO WORK, IT'S YOU WHO ACTS LIKE YOU'RE 5 YEARS OLD!"

The only thing that I can think is 'Thank God they have enough sense not to curse'. More memories are pushing at the shore of my mind's eye, but I force them away. No sense in fearing them now.

Inspiration hits me like a crack over the head, and I begin with the background; a deep, sinister dark black, darker than tar. I do the best I can, but it still is too light; the darkness I'm going for, what I remember, no light can penetrate.

There is a creak downstairs, and I stop.

The majority of my mind tells me that it's an old house, and there's something going on with Amy and Neil, of course the house is going to readjust. A million little possibilities play in my mind, and I stare at my door in suspicion. The back of my neck prickles with nervous energy, and I stand.

There is no harm in just going to make sure that nothing is wrong, is there? No, of course not.

I swallow thickly and leave the room, climbing down the rickety stairs silently and swiftly (bare feet have an advantage, I'm a firm advocate in no shoes). Even though my relatives are shouting at one another, the house is oddly silent and still and it make me wary.

Without thinking about it, I pad down the hallway and peer into Sophie's room; she curled up in a little burrow underneath the covers, just the top pf her wild blond hair peering out. Her room is a bright pink, with white carpet, and stuffed animals and dolls litter the floor like landmines (or soldiers, guarding her…I think I'll just go with that one). I can't resist a smile, as Sophie shifts in her sleep, and rolls over. Absently, I reach down and flick on the nightlight by the door.

I'll admit to being a bit superstitious, but my instincts are telling me that tonight is not a night to have darkness nearby.

Jamie's room is further down the hall, past the stairs; if Amy and Neil are still screaming in the front hallway, then I'll either have to risk them seeing me, or wait them out. I pause around the corner and listen…

"DON'T YOU DARE WALK AWAY FROM ME!"

"I WON'T! I'LL DRIVE!" Still in the kitchen, my investigation is safe.

I can't tell if they're going to walk through again anytime soon, so it's better to hurry up and prove myself wrong. Nothing bad can happen.

And yet, with every step that I get closer to Jamie's room, the more my heart pounds; I can feel it in my ears, and in my fingers as they twitch with the force of its strength. My mouth is dry, but I lick my lips anyway; it's almost like rubbing sandpaper together.

His door isn't open the whole way as I approach, but something moves and I stop, my blood freezing in my veins.

No, it's only a shadow-

"_My domain is here in the darkness and shadows, where fear makes everything possible."_

Oh no!

My knees trembled, but I moved the final distance, and looked in, only to feel my breath stop again.

He was there, leaning over the bed, smiling wickedly as Jamie whimpered and curled into himself in his sleep.

"Get away from Jamie!" I snarl, instinctively taking a step into the room; fear made me brave, and all those instincts screaming to run, well they could go jump in a hole. Jamie and Sophie were all I had left, really, and I'll be damned if I let _anyone_ hurt them.

The man turns to look at me in astonishment, and I realize with astonishment that he is connected to the shadows writhing on the ground. Catlike golden eyes seem to glow in the dark, staring at me in suspicion and amazement.

"You, you can see me?"

"Yes, now get the fuck away from Jamie before I smash in your goddamn head." I picked up the baseball bat by Jamie's dresser and weighed it in my hands, not looking away from him as I took another step forward.

"Who are you?" He asked, I could hear the curiosity in his tone, but also the disdain.

(line)

Pitch had been feasting on little Jamie's fear (a delicious nightmare involving freezing to death, of all the ironic things in the world), when the human 'cousin' interfered.

Had he been stronger, he would have shown her terror beyond terror; nightmares enough to break her mind and tear apart her sanity in one clawing stroke. This foolish mortal _woman_, threatening him? As if he was anything less than the King of Darkness? The thought was infuriating and deplorable, and yet, he was interested.

Mortal _children_ couldn't see him, more often than not, and yet _she_ could? How was it possible?

"Only gonna say it once more. Get. The fuck. Away from. My cousin." She spits, and he can taste the fear, like a free sample at some supermarket.

Her fear is rich, like well-aged wine; it resembles that of a child's, in that her fear is clear and defined, but much more concrete and well felt.

Losing Jamie and Sophie.

That fear played over and over in the recesses of her mind, more than an older fear of a bear of a man.

He could get drunk off such fear.

"Alright," he puts up his hands; he will not surrender, but curiosity has gotten the better of him for now. He relinquishes his hold on Jamie's mind and nightmare, his lip curling with disgust as the child relaxes, then stirs.

"I don't know who you are. Frankly I don't care. But I know you aren't human. My room's in the attic, if you want to explain to me why I shouldn't beat the hell out of you, wait for me up there." She says, circling around him to the boy.

Pitch isn't sure if little Jamie can see him, but he doesn't quite want to find out yet; he isn't afraid of the boy, but of him alerting the Guardians of his return. He has learned from his mistakes, and while he wants his revenge, he cannot be as flamboyant as last time, and he has been forced to acquire patience in the last few months.

The girl doesn't wait for an answer from him as she sit down at Jamie's bedside (though she doesn't let go of the bat, or stop watching him), and he slinks into the shadows, going up to the room as she suggested.

(line)

"Jay-bird?" Darcy whispers, shaking Jamie gently; he eagerly emerges from the sea of sleep, tears already burning at his eyes and making him tremble.

"Darcy," he whimpers, and although he is nine years old, he throws his arms around her neck and cries into her shirt; Darcy doesn't hesitate to wrap one arm around him and rub his back, and use the other to play with his hair, rocking him gently.

Jamie waits until he is sure that the cold that burned his bones and split his nerves is gone, banished forever (he hopes) into the barriers of his mind before he realizes that his baseball bat is on his bed, and Darcy's gaze, although worried, looks like it is not all there…

"What…what're you doing up?" He rubs at his eyes, and Darcy grins slyly.

"Working. Dontcha know? At night, that's when the part of our minds that say we can't do something is sound asleep, and we can do what we want with confidence." She winks, and Jamie hiccups and giggles at the same time, making him wince in pain.

"Thank you, for waking me up." He feels ashamed that he was dreaming of something so stupid. Freezing to death? Ha! Jack Frost is his best friend, why should he feel afraid? But still, he can't help but tremble at the though of such a painful death. "Was I that loud?" Jamie can't help but ask.

"No, I came down to use the bathroom. I was on my way back up when I heard you. Do you want to talk about what you dreamed?" Darcy asks gently, stroking his hair. Jamie blushes and shakes his head; it's too stupid. But Darcy pushes on. "You know, it's fine to have nightmares; everyone gets them sometimes. Talking can help." She insisted, but Jamie doesn't want to talk.

"I'm tired," he whispers after a little more time has passed. She laughs.

"Fear can do that," she admits, sounding hollow.

"Will you…"Jamie blushes harder. "Will you sing to me?"

"Alright, give me a minute to think…" Darcy continues to rock him, and he can hear her heart beating steady and strong and _safe_ within her chest. "Alright, but you've gotta go to sleep, alright, Jay-Bird, so just take deep breaths and listen. No thinking."

"Okay." He's more than happy to oblige, and as Darcy's voice washes over him, he relaxes, feeling the music deeper in his heart than actually hearing it with his mind.

"A naoidhean bhig, cluinn mo ghuth

"Mise ri d' thaobh, O mhaighdean bhan

"Ar righinn oig, fas as faic

"Do thir, dileas fhein

"A ghrian a's a ghealaich, stuir sinn

"Gu uair ar cliu 's ar gloire

"Naoidhean bhig, ar righinn og

"Mhaighdean uashaill bhan…*" Darcy's voice is warm and soft, and calming; it soothes his soul, and soon, Jamie is drifting again, this time it is Darcy tucking him in and kissing his forehead, and whispering good-night, though, and not his mother; unlike his mother, Darcy also makes sure that she's got his bat with her as she leaves, flicking on his nightlight as well on her way out.

Darcy checks in on Sophie one more time, and the little lump in the bed that is her cousin hasn't even twitched it looks like, making her chuckle, before a feeling unlike any other that she's ever felt.

She loves the Bennett children; more than she thought that she should be capable of. But she knows now, unfortunately, that she loves the two little kids that will now be part of her daily life; loves them as fiercely as a wolf loves her pups. And she knows, also, that she will protect them from everything there is; it doesn't matter if she has to move the moon, stars and sun; if it will keep them safe, she'll do it without a second thought.

Darcy smiles grimly, before going back up to her room.

(line)

Of course he's up there, waiting for me, when I get there. He doesn't turn to look at me when I shut the door firmly, instead he keeps studying the opaque crystal ball, weighing it in his hands and trying to find the future, before he drops it back onto its stand.

"How can you see me?" He demands; I blink, that voice is so familiar…

"Why shouldn't I? Something wrong with you?" He eyes me with annoyance, inclining his head just so that I can look at him. Or _he_ can look at _me_.

"No, you fool. I'm a spirit. Normal people, especially your age can't see me."

"What kind of spirit?" I ask; now we're getting somewhere. This conversation's getting interesting, even if him not being technically alive means that I can't bust his skull for hurting Jamie.

"I'm the Boogieman. The Nightmare King. yang hantu. I'm the bringer of fear, and creator of nightmares; I've many names and titles. But you may call me Pitch Black." He finishes his little rant by turning to fully face me fully and I finally get a chance to get a good look at the jerk.

He's not only tall, he looks thin; his skin is a deep ashen gray, but his hair is as dark as the shadows he was hiding in not 10 minutes ago, and using to manipulate Jamie. His lips are thin, but his also pressing them into a thin line, and I know instinctively (wow, I'm on a roll with that one tonight, folks) that he's processing every finite detail about me, just like I am with him.

"And why can't people see you?" I word this carefully, but he still looks pissed at the question.

"Because, no one believes in _me_ anymore. I haven't had real believers since the Dark Ages, and what good times those were-"

"For you." He smiles again, this time it's more broken.

"Who else would I be talking about…? Now, who are you in relation to Jamie Bennett?"

"I'm Darcy. Darcy Malone." I say with pride; I like my name, and I've no real reason to be ashamed of it. "Jamie and Sophie are my cousins." He chuckles, but there's no real humor in it. I don't like that laugh. "So, to be seen, you need to be believed in?" He nods. "But I didn't believe in you." He nods again.

"It's an anomaly, I'll admit."

I run what he said over in my mind a bit, before bristling with anger. "You give nightmares?" He shrugs. "To everyone?"

"More or less." I sigh and rub at my eyes.

"Well I know why, you bastard."

(line)

Pitch looked at 'Darcy' and noticed, for the first time, the slight shadows under her eyes. They were almost impossible to notice if you didn't look, but the telltale bag under her eyes made him smirk; so the girl hadn't slept peacefully in sometime. He felt rather proud.

"Apparently my Nightmares rather like your brand of fear." No need to mention how he liked it as well…

"Great, I feel so special. Care to tell me why you're fucking with my cousin?" Pitch raises an eyebrow at her; so Darcy doesn't know? Jamie hasn't informed her of the Guardians? Of Frost? Of course, her not knowing him should have been his first clue, but then he had gotten his hopes up…

"I could, but I won't. It's not just my story to tell. Go ask your cousin who I am, and what I want, I'm sure he'll be happy to answer." Pitch saw the golden sand beginning to approach outside and cringed. Time to cut this meeting short.

"Unfortunately, Darcy, I must leave, but thank you for the…invigorating conversation." And with that, he flung black sand at her; Darcy's face goes from hostile to blank in moments as she collapses to the floor, and then begins mumbling darkly.

Pitch can see her eyes moving underneath her eyelids, and sees her clenching the sheets tightly in her fists.

Perfect work.

With that pleasing thought, Pitch is forced to retreat into the night, just before Sandy arrives.

(line)

The Sandman doesn't sense anything out of order as he grants sweet dreams to the children of Burgess; there is the occasional nightmare, but they don't worry him. Every child is bound to have one or two, and so he pushes them back, and gives them good dreams.

All except one teenager, trapped in her own memories on the floor of her room, after having her first encounter with Pitch Black.

(line)

*-The lullaby is from the Pixar movie Brave, called Noble Maiden Fair (A Mhaighdean Bhan Uasal)

English Translation:

Little baby, hear my voice

I'm beside you, O maiden fair

Our young Lady, grow and see

Your land, your own faithful land

Sun and moon, guide us

To the hour of our glory and honour

Little baby, our young Lady

Noble maiden fair


	6. Chapter 6

**Vary: After a…discussion with Pitch about proper etiquette and manners, we've reached a mutual decision that he NOT be present at the beginning of the story. *smiles scarily* and if anyone has an issue with that well, you'll see why I give the Boogieman Nightmares.**

**I'm so pleased with all the reviews I've been getting these last couple chapters, and I'm glad that people are questioning the story (if you've got a question, to me, it means you've been paying attention), and I'll be happy to answer any more you've got. Thank you.**

**Thank you to everyone who's been with me since I first posted, and have posted every chapter (I love having loyal readers, makes me feel all warm inside!), and thank you so much everyone who reviewed to placate Pitch. Glad you all care for my safety! So sorry this took so long to update, I had midterms, and this wasn't exactly my first priority (*bows*) so sorry, thank you for your patience, please forgive me if this isn't up to your expectations, but I've been so desperate to post again that this was all my weirdo mind could come up with to connect the previous chapters that I've written to what I want to happen, and I figured that I should try and make this one kinda sweet between the Bennett kids and Darcy and that's a bit difficult and I've got to add Pitch…sorry, rambling tendency when I'm nervous.**

**And now…begins the show…DUN DUN DUN!**

**Curtain Rises…**

_(Line)_

_**God what a freak…**_

_I stare at my reflection; I stare at the Witch Eyes (so named by my father in one of his tirades), I stare at the wild hair and pallid skin, the too wide face and the thin mouth. _

_I hate it._

_The blade is poisonous power in my hand as I grip it in my palm; the warm crimson almost burns me, but it's a warm, wonderful burn. _

_**Killed her mother…**_

_**Lost her mind…**_

_**YOU TOOK HER FROM ME!**_

_Their whispers ricochet in my ears, the storm of hate growing louder and louder and __louder__ until my resistance is weakened and I take that blade and press it into the tender skin of my hip, watching the blood swell and stain my skin, and the pain covers the emptiness for now, and the relief is even greater than the ringing silence._

_Blood…_

_Blood everywhere…_

_Covering my body and staining my face, trapped with my Mother's body, its scent staining my consciousness as the pain blankets and muddles my mind, aware of the cold and the empty staring eyes, and the feeling that something has been torn from me, and that there isn't a part of my body that doesn't hurt. I'd rather die than continue suffering like this._

_And then I'm not dead, but in a place somewhere between Purgatory and Hell, listening to him claim that I am devil's spawn, and bringer of doom. I'm cowering in my room in our home, eyes burning, hands pressed to my ears, trying to block out his words._

_Words hurt more than the blade._

_Their scars, they taunt me, below the surface they form marks I can't hide or erase, and it's like everyone sees them and notices that I'm a reject._

_**YOU SHOULD HAVE DIED INSTEAD!**_

_Freak__, scratched into my locker door, and the popular, bitchy girls giggling as I stare at the vandalism, my ears burning. My arm is still in a cast, and Michael is carrying my books for me; he shoots a glare at them and snarls something, but I'm deaf to it._

_**YOU SHOULD HAVE DIED!**_

_It's true, I should have._

_I don't have a place anywhere. I've got nowhere to fit in._

_What is my purpose?_

(Line)

Jack makes it back to Burgess just before sunrise, still a bit confused as to what to think about Darcy and making her believe. Part of him doesn't want her to suffer anymore, but he thinks that the girl ought to have something to believe in.

He calls on buckets and buckets of snow, because he promised Jamie a snow day, and made his way to the Bennett house with the intention of waking Jamie up so they could hang out in before retrieving Sophie (Bunny was expecting her at the Warren later in the afternoon).

But first, he has work to do.

Jack can't help but grin; work to do.

A year ago, he was aimless; no one saw him, he was lonely. Now he had a home. Friends.

Believers

There are times when it all makes Jack dizzy, and he has to stop and let it wash over him in a powerful wave of pride and disbelief.

After so long of not having anyone care for him, _know_ of him, he's eager to please the guardians (although he'll never admit it). He takes the advice that North gives when asked, teases Bunny only enough to keep the Kangaroo on his toes and let's Tooth and her mini-fairies fawn over him. He does his job; he makes intricate patterns of frost and ice that hardly anyone notices (although more and more are starting to, gasping in awe at the intricacy and detail that they've previously ignored, much to their confusion), brings down snow in as many place that he can (usually safely, although he makes exceptions for places that are in desperate need of a snow day), and feels the inescapable joy of tasting the wind on his tongue and hearing it's song in his ears as he soars.

Jamie's Dad is still at home when Jack gets there; Jamie's still sleeping, and it's far too early to actually wake him, so Jack checks on everyone to pass the time. Mr. Bennett is sleeping on the couch; Sophie's fallen out of bed, still dead asleep and still tangled in her blankets. Jamie is out like a light as well, and Mrs. Bennett isn't at home; she must be at work.

With nothing else to do, Jack goes to look in on Darcy, only to feel like his heart is being ripped from his chest.

Darcy is in the middle of her room on the floor; her hands claw at the floor, and he can see that her nails are already split and cracked and bleeding; Darcy is curled almost into herself, trembling so hard that he's unsure if it's because she's cold or suffering from one hell of a nightmare. Then, oh sweet Manny…

For a moment, Jack remembers that he is eternally a teenage boy; an expanse of Darcy's smooth, flat stomach is exposed, a silver belly piercing flashing in the weak light. Jack feels his mouth go dry, and he grips his staff tighter than before.

It's then that he notices the tears, and the blood.

Her face glistens with steady tears, and a thin trail of blood running from one corner of her mouth. She's bitten the inside of her cheek so hard her teeth pierced it.

Jack makes his way over to Darcy quickly; trails of ice and frost spread from his feet as he drops into a crouch before her. Jack takes a deep, deep breath and presses his icy hand to her cheek, stroking gently.

"Darcy, wake up." He knows that the girl can't hear him, but he says the words anyway, praying that at least the cold will be enough to jolt her out of whatever is haunting her.

(Line)

_Hurts…_

_Pain…no air…biting cold…_

_Cold?_

_The heat before had been to the point where my skin was stretched taut over my bones; I could feel it flake off and boil, the marrow in my bones beginning to thrum with the heat as well._

_But this cold was…_

_No!_

_HURTS TOO MUCH! GET OFF! GETOFF! GETOFFGETOFFGETOFFGETOFFGETO FFGETOFF! OFFOFFOFFOFFOFFOFF!_

"_**Darcy, please wake up."**_

(Line)

It takes a moment, but Darcy finally flinches from his hand and opens her eyes; so early in the morning, they shouldn't be rimmed with red and bloodshot, and yet they are. How long has she been caught in a web of pain that she knitted for herself? Jack wonders.

Still with one foot in her nightmare, Darcy's eyes are glazed with sleep, but, for one, single, instant, they lock on Jack. They widen, but then lose their focus on his, and he pulls his hand away and she sits up.

Darcy closes her eyes and breathes in deeply, before examining her hands and then the room around her; she breathes in the cold air like she's never had it in her lungs before. Jack realizes, sadly, she's reassuring herself that what she's seeing _now_ is real, and that it was all a nightmare.

She pulls her knees to her chest and rests her forehead on them. It takes a moment before Jack realizes that she's trembling.

(Line)

The tears hurt more than they should, mainly because she hasn't cried in over a year. Darcy knows enough about herself to ride it out, and let the feelings overtake her like a tidal wave, because soon they'll settle and she'll be okay again.

So she allows herself to cry, despite the pain, and lets herself sob with exhaustion and fear, albeit silently; she rocks herself a bit, wishing that her Mother was there.

Mother, with her gentle hands, and soft smile; Mother, with a voice like the South embodied in a single woman and whose lullabies could soothe her despite any fear.

_Over in Killarney _

_Many years ago, _

_Me Mither sang a song to me _

_In tones so sweet and low. _

_Just a simple little ditty, _

_In her good ould Irish way, _

_And I'd give the world if she could sing _

_That song to me this day. _

_"Too-ra-loo-ra-loo-ral, Too-ra-loo-ra-li, _

_Too-ra-loo-ra-loo-ral, hush now, don't you cry _

_Too-ra-loo-ra-loo-ral, Too-ra-loo-ra-li, _

_Too-ra-loo-ra-loo-ral, that's an Irish lullaby" _

_Oft in dreams I wander _

_To that cot again, _

_I feel her arms a-huggin' me _

_As when she held me then. _

_And I hear her voice a -hummin' _

_To me as in days of yore, _

_When she used to rock me fast asleep _

_Outside the cabin door._

_"Too-ra-loo-ra-loo-ral, Too-ra-loo-ra-li, _

_Too-ra-loo-ra-loo-ral, hush now, don't you cry _

_Too-ra-loo-ra-loo-ral, Too-ra-loo-ra-li, _

_Too-ra-loo-ra-loo-ral, that's an Irish lullaby" _

Darcy let the memory of that voice wash over her now, welcomed it, almost.

The real reason that she'd moved to Alabama, and then here to Burgess, was that she was afraid. Darcy was terrified that if she kept ignoring everything that had happened, all that had been lost, she wouldn't ever be able to get over it. To be honest, and she was trying to ignore this as much as possible, she was afraid that she would be unable to feel; she didn't want to be numb to everything that happened in her life, and she knew enough to see that was where she was headed, fast.

It became clear to her in California, when a boy had flirted with her; she hadn't noticed anything. This young man had a girlfriend who had seen the exchange (he'd been on his own, she'd been shopping in the store and seen them outside); thankfully the woman hadn't said anything to Darcy, mainly because she hadn't reciprocated the advances, and instead burst into tears and shouting at the idiot. Not two years before that, before the accident, Darcy would have felt her heart break for the girl, and had her arms around her trying to comfort her. Now, though, she felt nothing.

It had terrified her; what had she become?

She spent a restless night trying to remember the last time that she felt…anything at all. But her mind drew up a blank.

In the time it had taken Darcy to find herself again, she'd also forgotten herself, if that made any sense. The fact that her father, before he'd become a monster, had also had a hard time showing how he felt, didn't escape her notice, and that scared her more. What if she turned into him? The first thing that she'd done was call up her relatives in Anderson, and, sure enough, within weeks she was starting to get back to normal.

Her scars had faded.

Anderson had healed her. She was perfectly happy there, and would have been content to stay, but something inside her had begun to whisper about coming back to Virginia. And so she'd called Amy.

Now here she is, crying like a child over some stupid nightmare.

Jack watches her for some time, wishing she can see him; in truth he's seen plenty of people worn down with their share of burdens in life. But he realizes how frailly stitched together Darcy is, and knows that she could either way at this point.

For 10 minutes Darcy wallows in her feelings, relishing in them. Then she forces herself to stand with shaky legs and much rubbing at her eyes; as if wiping away the tears will banish the fear and memories that they stem from.

"Enough of that, then." She scolds herself, standing tall and walking out of the room, leaving Jack alone with her things.

Jack decides to investigate Darcy; and is immediately interested in what he finds. In many ways, the Guardian of Fun is still a child, and like Jamie's friends, he is attracted to the strange and exotic things that Darcy has collected, and her strange way of viewing them.

(Line)

When Jamie is up, truly, he hears the shower running and Darcy singing again; this song was darker though, and although he couldn't hear the words, they made him shiver.

Jamie gets dressed quickly and makes his bed neatly, only because he doesn't want to have to get scolded by his Mom later.

He's ignorant of the fight last night, and doesn't know how unhappy his parents are. At present, he's just Jamie Alexander Bennett, a 9 year old who kept the beliefs of the world alive less than a year ago, and now has regular contact with creatures and people that most would scoff at. At present he's got no clue how close he was to losing his mind last night, and how the only thing that prevented it was troubled teen with a fiery temper and an unfortunate ability to disregard her survival instincts.

He finds Jack floating cross legged in the hallway outside his door, deep in thought and staring at something with surprising intensity.

"Jack?" Jamie risks asking, startling the guardian. "What's that?"

"Nothing-" Jack says a little too quick, before Jamie snatches it out of his hands, and then freezes.

"Jack, tell me you didn't go through her stuff." Jamie hisses, and Jack looks sheepish but guilty.

"I got curious."

It's Darcy. It's got to be. In the picture a thin little girl with thick dark hair in pigtails is grinning stupidly at the camera in a bright yellow sundress and sandals, held aloft by a large man with hair as dark as hers and deep dark brown eyes and a wry grin. A woman stands beside them, small and petite, with deep dark hair with natural red highlights that glint seductively in the sun, her tanned skin betraying a Native American ancestry somewhere in her lineage; her eyes are soft, kind brown, and her lips are in a patient, kind smile; Darcy's smile.

"You've got to put this back, now! Whatever else you messed with, fix it, before-" Darcy stops singing, and the water cuts off. Jamie pales. "GO!" He hisses, but the winter sprite is already gone, the photo in his hands.

Moments later, Darcy emerges from the bathroom in an ankle length black skirt with subtle midnight blues, thick black boots, an imitation of pioneer boots, and a black button up shirt. The only jewelry was a thin silver bracelet around her left wrist.

She blinks and smiles at Jamie, although there is a question in that smile.

"Hey, Jay-bird, what're you doing up so early?"

"Um, just…one of those things. I set my alarm for school, and I couldn't get back to sleep when I found out that it was a-"

"Snow day." Darcy nods, crossing her arms and leaning against the door frame. "Just like you predicted. How'd you guess?"

"Instinct." Darcy raises an eyebrow and purses her lips. Jamie is scared that she doesn't believe him, but she just shrugged.

"Want some breakfast? I can make pancakes." Jamie grins; Darcy always made him pancakes when she babysat. Her special ones, with cinnamon and brown sugar.

"That sounds good; Sophie hasn't had the chance to eat yours." Jamie indicates for his cousin to drop down to his level, and he whispers in her ear; "Mom tries to imitate them, but they usually end up really bad." Darcy laughs and pulls him into a hug, making him blush.

"We'll remedy that little fact, then, cousin. Come on, I perfected my recipe."

(Line)

Darcy can't bring herself to ask Jamie about anything to do with last night. She wants to believe that it's a dream, but she knows, somehow, that it wasn't. A…creature by the name Pitch Black had been in last night. He had gone after Jamie.

There was something that Jamie wasn't telling her.

"_Go ask your cousin who I am, and what I want, I'm sure he'll be happy to answer"_

But Jamie looks so happy this morning, she can't do it. And it'll be the first time she's spent with him, just him, in a while. She can't ruin this. So she promises herself that it's a task for later in the day, or maybe tomorrow, if she can remember.

"Don't eat so fast, Jay, you'll make yourself sick." She warns as she begins washing up the dishes.

Jamie, who had been digging into the pancakes with the ferocity of an animal that hasn't eaten in a month looks at her in surprise, fork paused on its way to his mouth. "Sorry." He's still got a mouthful of food and he's going for more…?

"Just slow down. No one's going to take your food." Jamie grins at her and she sighs with feigned annoyance.

Now that the sun's up, it's indescribably beautiful outside; the snow sparkles like thousands of diamonds, the sky a pale, neutral grey. It's almost like something from a postcard; the entire town, no, far as the eye can see, is coated with snow, nearly bowed under its weight. The white is suffocating, but peaceful, like a hospital room. Ideally, anyhow.

No one is actually out and about yet on their street; had it not been for the steady snores and snuffles from the living room, Jamie could almost believe that they were the only people alive.

Jamie shivers and then continues to steam shovel his pancakes.

Jack is sitting on the bench in the corner, watching the two of them curiously; the way they interacted, they could have seen one another every day since Jamie was born, with how familiar they were, instead of having been separated for 3 years.

The aroma of the pancakes was intoxicating enough that it got Sophie Marie Bennett out of her comfortable cocoon of blankets and stuffed animals and had her meandering down the hallways and stairs, absently sucking her thumb and trailing her soft pink baby blanket after her.

Sophie tiptoes past the living room, ear listening for something even she doesn't quite understand. She knows that it is safe to continue though, and does, immediately gaining Darcy's attention.

"Up!" She demands, extending her arms and grasping Darcy's skirt. She is lifted to a comfortable hip almost immediately, much to her delight.

"Morning, Sophie!" Jamie says, she grins at her brother, and points outside.

"Bunny today…Bunny, hop, hop, hop!" She wriggled happily and Darcy smiles in confusion, but both Jamie and Jack catch a strange glint in her eye.

"What Bunny, Sophie?" Darcy asks nonchalantly, setting some more pancakes on Jamie's plate and coating them with syrup.

"Aster!" She giggles excitedly, and says more in her sweet baby babble; Jack feels the tension swell in the room. Darcy is confused, but it won't last long, and something in her has been intrigued…

(line)

Darcy doesn't know who Aster Bunny might be, but from the nervous looks that Jamie's shooting her and Sophie, she's got a feeling that it might have to do with whatever the hell Pitch was talking about. Whatever it is that Jamie's got to do with.

Okay, call her crazy; anyone else in her situation would have blown everything that had happened last night as a serious case of jet lag, or food poisoning, or even one hell of a nightmare.

But Darcy _knows_ that Pitch was real.

She _knows_ that she didn't imagine the feeling of being helpless as her Mother died in the cold darkness of a snow storm, again; she didn't imagine singing a lullaby to Jamie. And she didn't imagine Pitch looming over her as she fell into the chasm of darkness that was her own mind.

It isn't something that she can explain, even to herself, try as she might.

But, because she is obsessive Darcy this morning, she _does_ try to figure it out; it's the kind of feeling that a farmer might get before a storm touches down on a beautiful summer day, when a cloud wasn't in the sky less than an hour before. It's the instinct that's saved many; a potential victim feeling the back of their necks prickle a second before a blunt object comes bearing down on them. Something… unexplainable is sure that she met the Boogeyman last night. It is absolutely certain that he gave her those nightmares.

And, she dreads this, it is also convinced that something has been put into motion that can't be taken back.

Sophie looks at her in question; Darcy isn't like she was yesterday, and it's scaring her, just the tiniest bit.

Darcy doesn't notice the little girl's worry, and sits her at the table before fixing her a plate of pancakes as well, the gears in her mind turning.

"So, Jamie, what are you going to do today?"

"Mmm…I dunno. You wanna go sledding with my friends and i?"

"What about Sophie?" The little blonde, who's mouth and hands are coated with syrup, looks at the both of them with such innocent eyes and precocious grin, they all burst out laughing.

"She can come too. Come on, when was the last time you went sledding?" Jamie presses on.

"Well…okay, but I have to change, and anyway, your friends won't mind if I tag along?"

"Are you kidding? After all the cool stuff you told them yesterday, they'll be begging you to test their sleds out!"

"Ha, well, I'll come with you, but I think I'm a bit too big to actually join you; I'll probably just keep an eye on Sophie."

"You're not _that_ old!" Jamie protests heatedly, and Darcy laughs.

"Sorry to burst your bubble, little buddy, but I am. I'll be 18 in July; they usually don't make sleds big enough for me, and I'm not much of a snowboard person." He can't retaliate to that, so he mumbles something about 'it not being fair', and hands his plate over so Darcy can wash it. She runs her figners through his hair gently and grins at his pout. "Go get dressed, Jay, I'll _see_ if I can sled."

And with that, Jamie's out of the kitchen and pounding up the stairs to his room, waking up Neil Bennett, mid-snore.

"Settle down, damn it!" He barks, half asleep. Jamie slows down and goes uietly the rest of the way up.

Neil grunts and gets up to go into the kitchen, rubbing at his eyes.

"Morning Neil." Darcy greets neutrally; she's heard the whole thing, but wants to ignore it. Anyway, playing stupid is usually the best way to get people to loosen up so you can find out what you want to know.

"Hello, Darcy. Morning, I guess. Any more of those pancakes left?"

"Mm-hmm." She makes him a plate, and continues to clean up her mess. Sophie stares from Darcy to Neil and then to Jack.

"Jack! Wanna go now! See hop, hop!" She demands, Neil sighs and Darcy smiles.

"She's mentioned Bunny, who is he? And who's Jack?" Neil shakes his head and rubs at his eyes.

"The Easter Bunny, of course, and Jack Frost." Darcy raises an eyebrow. "It's some kind of neighborhood nonsense; they run around pretending to play with a figment of their imagination-"

"Who's 'they'?" Darcy interrupts.

"Jamie's little band of misfits, who else? Anyway, they pretend that he talks to them, or plays games with them or some sort of thing like that. Even though there's no way he could be real." Jack's grip tightens on his staff and he has to resist the urge to freeze Neil's tongue.

"Jack real!" Sophie protests loudly, her glances at her coldly and Darcy steps in before damage can be done.

"Sophie, sweetie, go get dressed. Can you do that?" Sophie nods and scampers off, forgetting her blanket. Darcy absently reaches for it and folds it.

"Amy isn't any help, she indulges the nonsense."

"A few good dreams are good for children; anyway, maybe Jack Frost is real." Neil's eyes narrow and his fist clenches. "Has Jamie told you why you can't see him?"

"He insists that you have to believe, can you imagine?"

Darcy's hands tremble with rage as she watches Neil impassively. He's Jamie's Dad, he should be able to indulge Jamie if he wants to believe in something, so long as it doesn't hurt him.

"Sorry, Uncle Neil, but I promised Jamie and Sophie that I'd go sledding and obviously, I'm not dressed correctly so," Darcy walks away, feeling the rage bubble underneath her skin.

Anger was a familiar feeling; it's sensation like a poisonous euphoria, a heady wine with a deadly aftertaste. Sometimes, when she was low, Darcy imagined all the anger inside of her; a sickening yellow pus, but burning away at her core. Her muscles, her bones, her organs; they were infected with the disease, and it would keep on eating at her.

But for now, Darcy controls the anger that had become _her_, and walked away.

For now.

Because right now, she doesn't want to be _that_ Darcy. She wants to be the Darcy that Jamie remembers and adores. She wants to be the Darcy that Sophie climbs on and babbles to about her imaginings, even if she can't very well understand them.

So, she goes up, changes into something warm, and counts to 10.

Jack however is pleased; even if she doesn't realize it, there is some part od her that must recognize childhood magic. She may not believe, but she has enough of her own magic left, probably buried, deep, deep within, to know not to tamper with what the Guardians protect.

Memories

Dreams

Fun

Wonder

Hope

Darcy had defended them all to Neil, and that was something that couldn't be said of a lot of kids her age.

There was, pardon the pun, hope for her yet.

(Line)

Jamie waits for Jack in his room, and when the winter sprite finally arrives, he's on his feet immediately.

"We're going to make Darcy believe." Jamie insists, and Jack nods, a slow grin spreading across his face.

"I'll get the others ready. By the end of the day she'll be able to see all of us." And then Jack climbs out the window and goes to gather the other kids.

**And that's all!**

**So sorry, I'm really disappointed with how this chapter turned out, but writing connecting chapters has always been difficult. **

**Anyhow, next chapter is what we've been waiting for…**

**JACK'S EFFORT TO MAKE DARCY SEE HIM!**

**Stay tuned and review.**

**I still have Pitch on speed-dial-**

**Pitch: You rang?**


	7. Chapter 7

**Really surprised at the lack of response for the last chapter, but I am happy with the people who did comment. Thank you everyone, and judging by the follows and favs that this story is getting, even the people who aren't saying anything like it enough to keep track of. **

**On a happy note, Rise of the Guardians fanfiction has topped Inception on the popularity listing! Yay! Keep it up and we'll beat Thor, I know it!**

**This chapter came out faster than I thought it would, but I had a snow day, and no homework and nothing was on TV.**

**Pitch: And we so hope you find it entertaining.**

**Vary: Get the hell out of here! We had a deal!**

**Pitch: Relax, I won't do anything!**

**Vary: *sighs and pinches the bridge of her nose*, fine but don't cause any trouble.**

**Pitch: Do you mind if I say something really fast?**

**Vary: so help me, if you're threatening the readers again-**

**Pitch: Just a message! Simmer down. *Vary relaxes a bit and lets him speak*.**

**Thank you BVBlover4ever, for that little message, so glad that I have a fan. As for toying with Darcy, I'm afraid that's my job. And I do give the deserving nightmares, along with the undeserving. Thank you ever so much for the compliments on my hair, it's quite refreshing to hear praise rather than threats about 'being nice' *looks pointedly at Vary who smiles innocently*. Thank you for the kind words, I enjoyed them so much. As awkward as this will sound, glad that I scared you; I happen to like my job.**

**Vary: Done?**

**Pitch: Yes.**

**Vary: please review, so sorry this chapter is shorter than the last!**

(Line)

Jamie and his friends listen as Jack tells them what they're gonna do, and let him lead them to a spot to sled and play in the snow. It's close to his old pond (he says that because he was born there it'll be his home and his environment; it's where he feels strongest psychologically), and Darcy helps Sophie build a snowman as the others begin playing.

And then a snowball hit her in the back of her neck; Darcy let out a squeal as the snow went down her back; and whirled around to the occupied kids, smiling evilly.

"Who did it?" Somehow everyone heard her and they stopped to look. Darcy's smile looked scary, but her eyes glinted with amusement, almost a pure emerald now.

This was part of the plan.

Of course, it had been Jack who'd thrown the snowball, but since Darcy couldn't see him, she'd have to assume that it was one of the kids.

Without missing a beat, Darcy scoops up a handful of snow and lobs it at Cupcake, hitting her on the mouth.

"Snowball fight!" Pippa laughs as Sophie begins hurling her own 'snowballs' in every direction (they were really just handfuls of powdered snow).

Darcy can't remember when she's felt such uninhibited fun, and she can't believe how much she's missed it now that it's returned. It's like having a cigarette after abstaining for years; a pure, healthy rush! She shrieked with laughter as she was hit in the side with a snowball, and fell to the ground in overused dramatics, signaling her 'death'.

"Acht nah! Ye done kilt me with yer bare hands! Fer shame fer shame!" She moans in a pretty convincing Irish accent. All the kids can't help but stare at her as she bursts into great roaring laughter that surprises the lot of them.

"What?" She asks, brushing a stray strand of damp hair out of her eyes. "Something wrong?"

"That was weird, Darce." Jamie admits, she shrugs a bit, just as Jack makes the snow begin to fall gently.

Darcy blinks and looks up at the sky with some surprise, and then around them; Jack feels it then, a glimmer of belief, and then it's gone. He shouldn't have noticed it, and on a normal day he wouldn't, but he is paying special attention.

"Jamie, ask her if she remembers the stories, ask her now!" Jack hisses, and Jamie looked from his friend to his cousin.

"Hey, Darce?" She looks up at Jamie from her position on the ground and then around at his gaggle of friends. She notices, with some caution that they've gathered in a circle around her.

"What's wrong Jamie?"

"Do you remember those stories you told me when you stayed at our house, when Sophie was born? The stories of Jack Frost?" Darcy laughs.

"Yeah, you really got a kick out of them, if I remember correctly."

"I loved them!" Jamie enthuses, grinning as Sophie joins his side, her cheeks red from the cold. "But, where did you hear those stories?" Darcy frowns and raises an eyebrow, pushing herself to sit up slowly.

"About Jack Frost? I think that I just made them up, Jamie. Why the sudden interest?"

Jamie's eyes flicker to Jack who nods.

"He's real."

Darcy smiles at him, but it's a shadow of her true smile and it makes Jack's heart ache for her.

"Of course he is, Jamie. Who else would cause winter?"

"No, you can't see him," Cupcake interrupted rudely, glaring at her new role model. "If you could see him, you'd see that he's right here!" Cupcake gestures wildly at Jack, and Darcy looks in that direction without even thinking about it.

For a second, she's absolutely sure that she sees a tall, slender boy with storm blue eyes, but the image flickers, and reason drowns out all else. No one is there, and there is no Jack Frost. It's not possible.

"Cupcake, no one is there," Darcy insists gently; she makes a move to sit up but what looks like a small snow storm had begun twirling around her.

Uncertainly makes her hesitate, but stubbornness pushes it away, even as the scrunchie that held her hair in it's braid was gently pulled away and the long strands combed out painlessly. Icy down clung to midnight, glittering like diamonds in the color that now looked stark black.

"Yes there is! Jack is real! Jack makes winter for us!" Clyde (A/N: really not sure if that's his name, but I'm going with my first instinct) proclaims, puffing out his thin chest in defiance; although his glasses nearly sliding down his nose ruins any effect that there might have been.

"Jack make snow! Bunny hop!" Sophie's little soprano joins the fray, and Darcy feels the familiar sensation of being cornered.

The shrill wind screaming in her ear makes her flinch as the storm swirls faster and faster; it takes much of Jack's concentration to do this, but he knows it'll be worth it.

"JACK! Jack up!" Sophie says suddenly, indicating that she wanted to be held; and just like that, Jack allows the storm around Darcy to settle, and sweeps Sophie into the air, making Darcy shriek.

All the children present could see Jack calmly picking up little Sophie and swinging her around, but Darcy could only see her cousin spinning in the air. She steadied and stared hard as Sophie seemed to settle on someone's hip, perfectly comfortable.

There was no way.

No one was holding her.

But someone was.

Darcy took a step forward and then the other, approaching the tiny blonde.

No strings, no stilts.

And just like that, she _can_ see.

A boy her age with elven features and a sly grin, snow white hair and a ragged blue sweatshirt has Sophie in his arms, a shepherd's crook leaning against him lazily. Now that she can see his eyes, she feels like she did minutes ago; that true, heady sensation of being able to do anything, of being so unbelievably happy.

"Hi, I'm Jack." He greets with relief as she doesn't respond to this new belief.

"I see that." He laughs, the sound untamed and wild, and Darcy smiles. "I do believe I owe you an apology."

"It's cool, it's barely been a year since _anyone_ could see me, but we had to get your attention." Darcy detected more than a hint of pride in his words, but she's still a bit shell shocked so she ignores it, instead reaching for Sophie.

Jamie's grinning fit to split his face, and everyone is so happy that they don't notice a strange shadow flit away.

(Line)

The Nightmare galloped at full speed, shifting from one shadow to the next until it had returned to the den of its master.

After reasserting his domination over the shadows and Nightmares, Pitch had moved his hideout to, yet another, hole beneath the frame of a child's bed; as strange as it may seem, it's hard to find the clearing where it's located, mainly because much of it depends on whether or not he wanted you to find the place.

Like the last one, this home was a cave; in the largest was huge cavern where hung cages were featured. Venture deeper, however, and it seemed like an abandoned citadel carved of onyx and iron (I imagine a creepier version of tooth's palace), almost like the Nightmare King was reminding himself, constantly, of how lonely he was.

He was staring up at the shell of a globe where no lights had previously burned the night before; now, smack in the center of Burgess, a single light gleamed.

Pitch didn't need to look at the globe to know that Darcy believed in him; he could feel it. A Guardian, with their thousands upon thousands of lights would never notice something so insignificant as a single new light, but he did. It was comparable, laughably, to a single candle flame in the dark. It was impossible to miss.

"What is it?" Pitch hissed as the Nightmare materialized at his side.

He reached out and it breathed a noxious smoke into his palm that shimmered with opaque images; Pitch brought it close to his face and breathed in the dank smell, his golden eyes glittering darkly as he watched a replay of the exchange between Darcy and one Jack Frost.

"So Frost's taken an interest in her? How disturbing, the brat's trying to 'live' the life that was cut short, I suppose." He chuckles darkly before crushing the smoke in his fist. He turns his back on the Nightmare. "Leave." It doesn't hesitate to obey its master and disappears.

He stares up at the globe feeling uncertainty.

Where will Darcy fit into his plans for revenge?

Was he wrong to involve her in all of this, to focus his attention her?

No, he's positive that Darcy must have some purpose in the plan. The girl's timing is far too convenient to be anything else. He wonders, idly, if it's Man in the Moon's doing, but he doubts it. Instead, he wonders if this might have to do with other powers beyond the fool's interference.

He grits his teeth as he thinks of another person his vendetta is paired with and feels his fingers twitch with the desire to wring that elderly buffoon's neck.

_Father Time has always had an unfortunate habit of interfering _he thinks poisonously; it's supposed to be against the lesser known Guardian's powers to meddle with life, but it wouldn't be the first time, or the last, that one of the magical realms had broken the rules.

His theory raised yet another dark question as he closed his eyes and focused on that single blaze of warm belief in his core; somehow it reminded him of the fiery woman; bright and blazing, changeable, willing to warm ad just as quick to burn. Pitch chuckles darkly and the stray Nightmares cringe at the sound of their King's amusement.

If Father Time had somehow interfered with the flow of Fate and Time, then what was Darcy's place in whatever plot happened to be brewing?

(Line)

Darcy thinks that she's handled things pretty well.

After a few hours of playing with the kids and dealing with Jack's childlike sense of humor (mainly involving freezing various things she'd had a grip on, causing random gusts of wind to trip her up and various things of that nature), they all go back to the Bennett home. Jamie and Sophie lead the way while Darcy and Jack walk behind the pack.

"Hey, can I ask you something?" Darcy asks; her question is calm and reveals nothing of what she fears, and her mask is impeccable, only her stormy eyes make Jack worry.

"Sure."

"Do you know someone by the name Pitch? Pitch Black?"

Jack stops midstep and stares at her with such horror that Darcy realizes this is a bigger deal than she knew.

"How do you know him?" His voice, literally, makes Darcy shiver; there is such malice and anger, it's unforgiving.

Like being caught in the middle of a snow storm with no shelter.

"He…I met him last night. He was wandering around the house, and we were both pretty surprised I could see him. He called himself-"

"The Boogieman or the Nightmare King?" Jack guesses, she nods and he curses. "This isn't good. We didn't think that he'd come back so quickly…damn it!" He walks on and Darcy walks faster as he talks to himself, when he suddenly turns on her again, he's almost directly in her face and Darcy can smell Jack; a minty pine and cinnamon that makes her feel energized and relaxed at the same time. "Look, we can't let the kids know about this; don't mention it to them, not yet."

"If he's a bad guy-"

"He is. But we have to tell someone else; look, we're going back to Jamie house and we're gonna send the kids home. Okay?" Darcy nods. "We're going to visit a couple friends of mine, and then you have to tell them _exactly_ what happened."

"How bad is this guy? I mean-"

"Last Easter he tried to take over the world." Jack explains bluntly, Darcy pales. "He wiped out the belief kids have in…the creatures like us; I'll explain later, but as long as we're here, Pitch can't take over and ruin the world in fear." Jack turns on his heel, and they hurry to catch up with the kids, who don't comment on their sudden distance or why they're talking so quietly. Or they just don't notice.

"What stopped him?" Darcy ventures to ask; Jack is…not quite scaring, but worrying her, just a bit; his face wasn't meant to frown, or be solemn.

But it changes in an instant and he indicates to the head of the line, to Jamie.

"Your cousin stopped him. Put simply, he saved the world. He saved childhood." Darcy smiles proudly and nods.

"Always knew that Jay-bird was special." Jack nods and they look on the laughing child, who's gripping his sister's hand firmly, but gently.

"Belief always is."

**TA-DA!**

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	8. Chapter 8

**Hey Guys, so sorry that this took so long but my inspiration was a bit dead; I know where this is going, but I had some issues working out the kinks, you know? I'm glad that everyone seems to like this fic, really I am; when I first posted it, I was absolutely terrified that I'd get flamers screaming to burn the Mary-Sue, but so far none of that. Actually, a couple of people reviewing even said that they didn't smell a Sue, so I'm particularly pleased. **

**I know this chapter is a bit rushed, but again, I didn't exactly know where to put everything, so I wound up just tossing everything together and mixing it together in a creative stewpot. If you don't like it, I'm sorry, I think this was a one time thing, at least I hope so. If not, well...tough luck I guess.**

**Thank you everyone who has reviewed, favorited or followed Nightmares & Maladies, you are awesome and good fortune to all of you!**

"Bye Darcy!" Cupcake shouts as she bounds off through the yard; Pippa smiles shyly and waves good-bye as well before she quietly leaves as well.

It's been 3 hours since they've arrived home and what seems like countless batches of cookies and hot chocolate (Darcy had, regrettably, forgotten about how much food small children could pack away in remarkably short periods of time).

Pippa is the last to leave, and inwardly Darcy is a bit grateful; she's helped 6 kids get their snow pants, boots, jackets, hats, mittens and scarves on, among other assorted items, not mention that she's also had to make sure that they're warm and well fed; she's more than ready to just go to Santoff Claussen.

Jack let Jamie and Sophie in on the surprise when the other kids weren't listening, because he couldn't take them all and he didn't want to make them jealous. When Darcy realized she had no way of knowing what to do or what to expect, several innocuous questions had her believing the kids, so she'd be able to see North and the others.

Darcy frowns and shuts the door, locking it with a sound 'click'. She's not happy about learning something that she feels, in her heart of hearts, she's better off not knowing. Darcy won't tell Jack, but she doesn't feel like he knows Pitch quite so well as he thinks.

"Darcy! Darcy!" Sophie shouts, ramming into her legs, Darcy rubs her head and Sophie grins up at her.

"Can we go now?" Jamie begs, Darcy smiles.

"Go get whatever you usually take, I need to write a note to your mother." (Neil had taken one look at the group of kids when they'd tramped through the door and left. Just as well; Darcy probably wouldn't have been able to keep her mouth shut this time).

_Bastard,_ she thinks as she wanders back into the kitchen, where Jack has snatched a handful of marshmallows.

"Ready to go?" His mouth is still full of the stolen treat as he asked this, and Darcy giggles as she realizes he's doing all this in that catlike crouch he seems to favor so much.

"In a minute, I need to write a note to Amy saying that I have the kids and we went out for a walk." Jack rolls his eyes as she scribbles out some excuse.

He notices, uncomfortably, the graceful way that Darcy's hand moves as she writes. He swallows, his throat thick, and forces himself to look away from her. Darcy doesn't notice his dilemma.

"So," she finally asks, "is there anything that I'm actually gonna need on this trip?"

"No; I'm taking you guys inside the fort itself so there's nothing you should need; North's always happy to provide for company." Jacl states proudly as he hops down from his perch to the floor and then stands; Darcy wonders off-handedly if there's any particular exercises that Jack does to ensure he stays so fluid and graceful, but decides not to ask him.

Darcy is abou to ask about the fort when she's interrupted by Sophie taking a small tumble down the bottom two stair steps. Jack and Darcy are at her side immediately, without even realizing about the other as they examined her injury for broken bones or blood; thankfully there is neither, although her knee is pretty banged up. On her part, Sophie doesn't even cry save for the initial shock of the fall (Darcy recalls Amy mentioning that she has a tendency to fall alot, and so she's got a relatively high pain tolerance for this sort of thing; although that doesn't stop her from worrying), and just accepts the comforting touches and croons from two of her most favorite people in the world.

There's a moment of awkwardness when both Jack and Darcy reach forward to pick her up, but they both laugh (one in nervousness, the other in amusement).

"You take her Jack." And so he plucks the tiny girl up and set her on his hip, where she settles comfortably. It may be cold, but Sophie doesn't mind; for her, it's the safest place in the world.

Jamie comes running down the stairs next; his face is freshly scrubbed, and his hair is brushed again; all in all, he's gotten cleaned up to see North, or Santa (Darcy thinks that she'll always just think of him like that, no matter what his name is). He looks so adorable that Darcy can't resist teasing him by pinching his cheek quickly. He scowls at her and rubs the spot.

"Everyone ready?" Jack asks, letting himself slip off the ground so that he was sitting in mid-air, his legs crossed Native American style as Sophie clambors all over him, giggling.

"Ready," Jamie confirms, grasping Darcy's hand.

"I'm good," Darcy echoes.

"Yet's go!" Sohpie shouts, making them all laugh out loud.

Jack reaches into his hoodie and produces what looks like a snowball with gentle light swirling around within; Darcy watches in fascination as he hands it over to Sophie who takes it eagerly. "You can do it this time, kiddo." Sophie seems to bounce in happiness.

"Santoff Claussen." Sohpie says, in a voice too clear for a small child, meaning that she's practiced it. And then she drops the ball to the floor, where it explodes into white.

And then Jamie is tugging her forward, and she loses the ground from under her, and she sees nothing else, but hears the kid's laughter.

(Line)

Pitch is still regretting the decision to come when he arrives to Father Time's castle and makes his way through the barriers and dimensional doors with ease; he is flanked by the shadows as he enters the massive hall that echoes with the incessant ticking of clocks; the old fool has thousands upon thousands hung from the ceiling, and all of them are in working order (Pitch suspects that they run on the old man's magic).

He eyes the bent figure warily; for all that he may like like an elderly man with a long flowing beard, gentle blue eyes and a charming smile, Pitch doesn't underestimate him at all. Like North, when he became a Guardian (though not one of the Big 4) he was given eternal life and vitality to prevent the chronic illnesses of the elderly from preventing his work. It may be petty, but Pitch is pleased to see that he still looks old and frail, even if he isn't; somehow it strokes his ego.

Ombric leans heavily against the giant bronze staff topped by a clock with roman numerals; ironically, this is the only clock that doesn't run, it's hands are frozen at 12 o'clock, for whatever reason.

"Hello, Pitch," Ombric greets pleasantly enough.

The last time that Pitch saw Ombric was more than four centuries ago, when he'd last battled all of the immortals in a desperate attempt to keep a hold on the terror that he inspired and the grip he had on the Dark Ages; he'd come out the worst in that battle, yes, but still, things have cooled off for the most part between he and the other immortals, but there is no call for such civility from him.

"What are you playing at, Old Man?" Pitch demands, Ombric just smiles innocently at the Nightmare King; anyone that wasn't Pitch would be convinced that he couldn't have had anything to do with Darcy, but Pitch doesn't trust him a bit. If possible, he trusts him less than any other Guardian, let alone any other Immortal. To be sure, Pitch isn't fooled in the least.

"Whatever do you mean, Pitch?"

"Don't play the fool, Ombric! That girl, Darcy! Her appearance in Burgess is _far_ too convenient to be chance! You're the only meddling old bat that comes to mind when I think it over! Now tell me, _**what did you do**_!" Pitch advanced on the old man another step with every word until he was staring him down with a poisonous glare enough to curdle milk.

Ombric only chuckled warmly, completely nonplussed by the raging Boogeyman. "Ah, **that**; yes, I do suppose that it is time I let you in on...my little secret." The last words were spoken with such affection that Pitch has to restrain himself from vomiting copiously. And then Ombric glides away, toward a doorway to their right, that satisfied smile still in place. "Come then, if you'd like to know." He raises a brittle looking finger and gestures that Pitch follow.

Pitch himself can feel his shadows thrum with nervousness; he can feel the creeping uneasiness as well,m but he maintains his mask of rage and haughtiness. Without even realizing that he's done it, he smooths the fears of the shadows with his energy; to them, it's like a comforting hug from a mother, his energy. Pitch is their master, and they will follow him anywhere, even as he follows Ombric through the doorway.

Ombric leads them through hallways and stairwells, chambers and rooms; Pitch loses all sense of time and direction; one of which has to be Ombric's doing, and the other the cause of it, he's certain beyond a doubt. All that he can tell, however vaguely, is that they are going underground, and after some time has happened, he feels that uncomfortable feeling of claustrophobia beginning to creep in on him.

See, despite the fact that his lair is under a bed, Pitch Black suffers from claustrophobia and he is a bit hesitant to enter any kind of cramped space; hence the large city-like home he had. But, strangely enough, it isn't just the claustrophobia that makes him nervous; Ombric shouldn't be so welcoming to him, and yet he's perfectly polite.

As they continue, Pitch notices that The ticking of the clocks became louder and louder; unsurprising, considering that they were now in a small corridor so filled with clocks of all kinds that it became a bit of a chore to walk; Pitch can feel what is sure to become a headache forming, but Ombric doesn't seem to be bothered by it. So he sucks it up and follows Father Time resolutely; they keep walking, and finally Ombric stops before a door.

"Pitch," and suddenly his voice is different, and it makes Pitch hesitate, "do you want to know something interesting about being the Lord of Time?" Something in his tone is violent, and it makes Pitch more skittish than he has been; he hardly notices that his shadows are writhing in fear, themselves, stirring up the clocks and knocking them together. One begins to chime out the hour, and then another and another. And then they all are ringing and calling out to their Master, and Pitch can no longer abandon the pretense, and has to cover his ears, but it does little. The noise grows and grows, and he is in so much pain that _he_ is now writhing in pain.

Through it all, though, Ombric watches, smiling in amusement, before he turns to open the door.

(line)

Darcy hits the floor and manages to stay standing, although her vision is swimming a bit. She breathes deeply and nearly moans at the smells; fresh wood smoke, paint, pine, oil; comforting smells that make her relax, even if her legs are threatening to give out from under her.

"Is it always like that?" She can't help but ask Jack, who's setting Sophie down. He grins.

"Not if you can fly." He teases, making her roll her eyes.

Jamie is silent, opting to brush himself off and make sure that he is still in one piece; so Darcy takes the time to examine their new surroundings.

It seems to be someone's private office; the entire place is wood, and seems to give off a feeling of warmth and comfort; there is a colossal fireplace and desk before it, and what look like huge cubes of glass, but on closer inspection, Darcy sees that they are actually ice, despite the heat of the room. All sorts of toys and books are in this room, along with different sized brushes, picks and many other things that Darcy supposes that North must use to make toys (although she can't imagine what the ice is for).

And then the doors slam open, making her jump as a giant of a man marches in. He's got thick white hair and a long beard; despite the belly (that really isn't all that big, despite the stories that have made it out of proportion), Darcy knows instinctively that this man is a warrior, or used to be. He's powerful, even without the intricate tattoos that decorate his arms (one arm reads Naughty, the other Nice, much to Darcy's amusement), or the large purposeful strides he walks with as he makes his way toward them.

"Jack! What is meaning of this!" He shouts in heavy Russian, before he's caught off guard by Sophie and Jamie tackling him in joy.

"North!"

"Santa!"

"Hello, little ones! How have you fared? I believe that Phil has new toys you might like, go see him now, yeah? I come play later!" Sophie took off, and Jamie, casting one suspicious glance at the people in the room before following his sister; he was missing something, but no one was talking.

"Now, Jack, why have you brought Darcy to Santoff Claussen?" North demands, Jack grins sheepishly and scratches the back of his head.

"Um, I think that we better call the other Guardians before we talk." Jack admitted quietly, but he quelled under the sligtly intimidating glare that North gave him.

"No, Jack, we should tell him first and let him make the call." North doesn't know what to make of the worried look that Darcy's giving him, or of the steel in her eyes.

"Alright then, I listen; Jack, go get tea, since you know story; Darcy sit down and tell me what is wrong?" He indicates to a plush emerald armchair, and Darcy takes him up on the offer.

Once she starts talking, it doesn't take long before she's telling North all that has happened. She tells North that Pitch came to see Jamie, that they had a proper conversation, and that before he left he gave her another nightmare; hell, she told North about the nightmares that she'd been having for so long. North looks distressed, but doesn't interrupt the story until it's finished.

"This...This is serious. I'm afraid that we must summon Guardians; problem must be taken care of before it becomes worse. Come, Darcy, you part of this now." By the way that he says it, though, she's not entirel certain if it's a good thing.

Jack still hasn't returned with tea, and moments later they find out why.

North leads her to the Globe Room, as he calls it, and he bellows in raged when he sees that the switch has been pulled, and the aurora borealis is mapping out across the sky already; Jack is nowhere to be found, meaning that he knows he's in trouble, but Darcy is pretty sure that he's done the right thing when North calms a moment later with the appearance of some kind of creature covered in feathers; upon closer inspection, Darcy realizes that it's a woman.

"What's going on?" She asks, her violet eyes pinning Darcy to the spot.

"Pitch is back. We wait on others."

To Darcy's surprise, this woman is the Tooth Fairy ("please just call me Tooth, Darcy!"); somehow she never expected her to be part...bird; although this was a fact that she decided not to share.

Sandy comes next, and he's very sweet, she thinks (or hopes, it's almost impossible to tell, what with the mute thing, but hey, to each their own); he seems to be having a rather dramatic discussion with Tooth, the sand forming rapid fire pictures above his head so fast that Darcy can't keep up.

They have to wait a moment for Bunny, who appears in a flurry of activity; or rather, his appearance causes the activity; not because he's late, but because he had Pitch Black bound and hogtied, slung over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes.

"Was this gamby the reason we were called?" He asked, raising an eyebrow.

And then hell broke loose.

**Review please if you want an update!**


	9. Chapter 9

**Hey guys! Okay, finally posed; this part was a bit tricky, but I think that I managed to pull it all together really well. Thanks to everyone who's reviewed; I've gotten like, 15 favs since I last posted, so I guess that means everyone is satisfied wih how it turned out.**

**Review this on please, it took a lot of hard work to make Ombric a plausible villain and everything, and even now I'm still not so sure about the whole thing, so if I need to tweak it, review abot what you don't like and I'll edit the chapter. Any questions can also be messaged to me or posted in your review.**

**Ciao!**

Bunny had decided that he would take advantage of the situation and just dropped Pitch to the ground, eliciting a moan from the unconscious man.

The elves swarmed, screaming, and attempted to beat the living hell out of him, and it only took a mess of Sandy's dreamsand to calm them down (the yeti were given the unfortunate task of getting them out of the way).

Tooth had to then calm the small battalian of mini-fairies that had accompanied her from the Tooth Palace, and were eager for vengeance against the one who had sought to destroy what they protected and had the nerve to cage them! The dreamsand was used again, and then the Guardians and the human interloper (being Darcy, as Jamie and Sophie weren't made aware of the situation) got a good look at ther enemy.

Pitch's granite skin was absolutely covered in bruises and blood; the right side of his face was swollen so badly he was nearly unrecognizable, and there were several nasty gashes marring his face as well. Blood pooled under him, although his robe looked brand new, and the hitches and pained gasps that interrupted his unconcious form made Darcy think, privately, that the Nightmare King may have broken ribs.

Anyone in such a state could have inspired pity, even Pitch.

North demanded to know what had happened, and Bunny seemed a bit smug as he related his tale: apparently, after the message had been sent out, and Bunny had appeared outside the fort, he'd noticed something odd in one of the many shadowed corners that Santoff Classen cast in the white landscape. Pitch had been there, also unconscious, in more or less the same state.

"All I did to the bloody bastard was tie 'im up!" Bunny snarled as he glared down at the eradicator of his species with disgust. Darcy swallowed thickly at the sight of the blood, old memories playing across her mind, when the giant rabbit at last looked at her. "Who's the sheila?" He asked, and Darcy was hard put not to imagine Steve Irwin or Crocodile Dundee as he spoke.

"Um, I'm Darcy." She offered weakly, before North ordered the Yeti (**A/N: I think that's the plural)** to get Pitch to the hospital wing

From there, it more or less a wait; everyone just drifted off to do their own thing around the fort. Sandy, reluctantly, had to forsake his duties momentarily and dozed off in an armchair by the fire. After a while of chatting with Darcy, Tooth sort of flitted away, still ordering her remaining fairies around about the teeth; Jack, on North's orders, went to make sure that Sophie and Jamie wouldn't walk into something that could endanger them, which brings us to the present; Bunny and Darcy sitting in the hallway of the hospital wing, waiting until the yeti and North gave the clear that it was alright to go in.

Bunny doesn't exactly know what to think about Darcy.

She leans against the wall, arms crossed protectively over her abdomen, eyes locked on the closed door; his nose is twitching, and he can't exactly explain why it is that she has him uneasy.

"So, would I be right in assuming that Frostbite has to do with yer bein' here?" He asks politely, but upon seeing the confused look she gives him, realizes that the joke has fallen rather flat. "Snowflake?" Confusion. "Jack?"

Darcy's mouth forms an O of recognition and she nods, smiling a bit. "But Jamie and the others helped out." She admitted, making Bunny laugh.

"'Course they did; little anle bitahs, they're up for whatevah Frostbite suggests," Darcy notes the slight wistfulness in his tone. She slid down to the floor, legs forlding gracefully underneath her.

What must it be like, she wonders, to almost never have contact with the people that you work so hard to please? One day a year, maybe, to show yourself, but otherwise to only have a handful of people who knew you; and then, the mass majority of the population believing that you're nothing but a fable?

"Actually, it was Jamie who started it," Darcy mumbles, remembering the vibrant pride that Jamie had expressed when he'd copped to it (in between stuffing his face with sugar cookies). Bunny can't help but laugh.

Although she smiles a bit, all Darcy really wants to do is sleep at the moment; apparently all that she's learned today as taken it's toll. Her eyes are heavy, and she feels so comfortable, she could probably just doze off now...but a bigger part of her is so nervous and jacked up she doesn't want to risk it, for fear of what she'll see when she closes her eyes.

"So, has anyone bothered to tell you what's really going on?" Bunny finally asks; he seriously doubts it.

It isn't a surprise when Darcy shakes her head and looks at him with world weary eyes, so he settles into a crouch and scoots closer to her, settling in; from the looks of Pitch when he got in, it'll take some time before he's healed enough for questioning.

"Alright then, I know yeh've got questions about it, so go 'head."

"What exactly do the Guardians do? I mean, Jack kinda gave me rough outline, but what exactly...?" Darcy trails off, gesturing vaguely to the fortress and then to him. Bunny smirks.

"Ah, that; this concerns Pitch, and it concerns all of us," he begins, and he notices that she turns to face him better and rests her head in her hands, like a small child. "See, millenia ago, there were these things called Fearlings and Dream Pirates runnin' amok throughout the cosmos. But they were rounded up by legendary heroes, and imprisoned. What had been the time of fear, then became the Golden Age. It was a time of imagination and creation; everyone was happy.

"Now, in all the Great Families of the galaxy, there was one tha stood out above all the others, the Lunanoff's; if the Golden Age had a royal family, it woulda been them. Tsar and Tsarina Lunanoff assigned a famed hero to ensure that the Fearlings and Nightmare Pirates never escaped. He was a decorated soldier, strong and daring, he was easily the strongest and most trusted among the Space Armada.

"Day an' night, he stood watch. The beings of fear, they tried to trick him, and he stood his ground. But, somehow, they called to somethin tha' he wanted, and he opened the gates: they swarmed him, and the hero was gone for good, leaving nothing but a creature that hardly counted a man anymore: Pitch Black, King of Nightmares an' Darkness," something in Darcy twitches at the way that Bunny dismisses Pitch as a lower being, but she keeps it to herself.

"An jus' like tha', the Golden Age was done with. People hid, Pitch fed from the bountiful fear that everyone felt, and became so strong that nobody could stop 'im. The Lunanoff's, they fled, taking their newborn son, intending to hide on a small, nearly nonexistent planet that was so barbaric and beastial, they were certain tha' someone by the likes a Pitch would nevah think to look for em there. They took along with 'em a child by th'name a Nightlight; he was their son's best friend, and somethin abou' him ensured that the infant Lunanoff nevah had a nightmare, none. It was thanks to him, that the Tsar got his nickname; he called the little boy, the Little Man in the Moon; see, their ship was called the Moon Clipper," Darcy raises an eyebrow, but Bunny ignores her attempts to interrupt.

"Bu', Pitch couldn' have tha. He found that the tiny boy had nevah known fear, and swore that he would turn such an insolent soul into the Nightmare Prince. He turned all his attention to findin 'im, and soon enough, he did.

"Ah, the Lunanoff's, they fought hard; they wanted to protect their son from such a terrible, horrible fate that would bring their pride and joy such terrible suffering, bu'..." Bunny trailed off, staring down at his paws, feeling bile about to rise. "...Bu nobody tells the Nightmare King no...no' withou' payin dearly. Nightlight, he took up the mantle that the Tsar and Tsarina bequeathed to him; he would protect the infant. With a crystal sword, he rushed at the King of Terror, and the Fearlings swarmed! BOOM!" He shouts, making Darcy jump in spite of herself; she's staring at him with such intensity that Bunny couldn't resist. "When the servants tha' survived the great battle came back upon deck, nothin was left of the Lunanoff's, the Fearlings, or even Nightlight. The great ship was reduced to a great shell, unable to go anywhere, just hang, suspended in space, stuck in Earth's orbit." Darcy gasps, bringing a hand to cover her mouth.

"The Lunanoff's, their ship-you're telling me, that became the moon?" Darcy demands, color rising to her cheeks. Bunny grins, nodding brightly.

"Would I lie?" He quips, Darcy shrugs and he growls playfully, "now, you wanna hear the rest then?" Darcy nods eagerly, so Bunny picks up where he left off. "So, with none left but the little boy, the new Tsar Lunanoff, the servants all raised him, way up their, away from Earth, and away from fear. As time passed, little MiM noticed that on Earth, there was children, just like him. He came to think of em as friends, and when he saw that they were havin' nightmares, he couldn' stand it none. So, he sent Moonbeams down to the tiny planet, with the orders that they chase away the bad dreams; bu', MiM, he worried about wha had happened to Pitch, so he gave the order, also, tha' the moonbeams keep an eye out for Fearlings, or anythin' tha' shouldn' be there.

"For many years, there was nothin' to report. Years wen' by, an' nothin' troubled the kids of Earth. Then, one curious moonbeam entered a dark cave, and he found a man, pinned to stone by a crystal sword. The moonbeam was caught, and he broke whatevah spell was on it, keepin' Pitch there, an he woke up hungry and angry and confused. Fear spread again, rapidly, making it's way up to the area that's now Russia..." Bunny tells her nearly everything; and he takes joy in the way she hangs on every word, and allows her ample opportunities to ask questions to clarify anything that she's confused about.

Before long though, the warmth and the safety that seems to be embedded into North's home makes it impossible to resist the fatigue, and she drifts off (Bunny sees Sandy peeking around the corner, and within moments he see images in the golden sand above her head; a scene of what looked like books stacked around her head, and a figure that must have been her, sitting amongst the pile, reading intently).

"Thanks Sandy!" He whispers, the other guardian smiles and drifts away.

(Line)

In the end, North has to appeal to MiM to heal Pitch, who does so without much prompting, for whatever reason, which worries North very much. Something must seriously be wrong with the Boogeyman to make Manny intervene, and so he waits for Pitch to wake up and explain himself.

It's half an hour later when Pitch finally does; he's come out of whatever fight he was in with 3 broken ribs, a serious concussion and some interesting scars on his chest. The Boogeyman stirs, groaning before his catlike golden eyes are trained on North with something akin to fear tinged with relief, and then his shadows are coiled around him defense. Remarkably, though, he's yet to run, which makes North fear the worst.

"Hello, North. Judging by the surroundings, I made it?"

"Yes, Bunny found you outside, in very bad shape. How do you come to be that way?" Pitch smirks and laughs bitterly.

"Believe it or not, it was Father Time."

(Line)

_The room that Pitch awoke in was made of filthy stone; Ombric was standing before a stone table cluttered with odds and ends that were rusty and coated in blood and grime; it didn't make him feel any more secure. He noticed that Ombric was humming brightly, and that made it more frightening then a death march._

_"What is the meaning of this, Ombric!" Pitch snarls, but when he turns to look back at him, the kindly old grandfather demeaner has melted away, leaving a ace that can only be comparable to an elderly snake._

_"Oh, Pitch, you've no right to speak to me as if we're on par anywhere, let alone my home," Ombric sneered and snapped his fingers, and Pitch screamed as something sharp that he could see slashed through his robe. "It made my plans so much easier, do you see, when you came running to me after a single meeting with Darcy. I'd been prepared to think up a range of schemes, but you saved me the trouble. Thank you." The sharp object, still invisible, stops slashing, and he gasps in pain._

_"What __are__ your plans, Ombric. What could be going on in that mottled old brain of yours?" Ombric laughs and then Pitch is being cut again as he wanders to the center of the chamber, where what looks like a giant silver chunk of metal is suspended over a shaft of air; it isn't like other metals though, in that it is almost melted, and shimmers in whatever it is keeping it up. Ombric pauses before it, clutching his staff, before turning to face Pitch again._

_"I think you know, Pitch, how...lonely it can be, and how frustrating, when not a single child can set their eyes on you, don't you? But then, I suppose that that's where we differ. I gave that ungrateful brat Nicholas his beginning, it is because of me, that he has his immortality, his livelihood; He took over Santoff Claussen from me, did you know that? I was so busy, ensuring that the timestream is secure and stays ever flowing and smooth._

_"But still, Pitch, no one knows of Father Time. No one knows **my** work," although his words were still nonchalant, Pitch heard the centuries old anger beneath the suface; he knew what Ombric meant; loneliness makes those feelings fester, but if Ombric has had all this power but no believers..._

_"You're messing with belief, aren't you?" Pitch asked in wonder; suddenly it all makes sense; his near victory over the guardians happening so quickly, Frost's powers coming into bloom, and Darcy..._

_"Very Good, Pitch; you're not quite as stupid as I'd pegged you for. Yes, I've been using time to affect children' beliefs; quite simple, really, once I realized how to do it. Magic, truly is a wonderful thing; I've had it at my control since before Atlantis fell, you know, and that, combined with what Man in the Moon's given me, I could be nearly unstoppable."_

_"But you don't have believers." Pitch concludes, making Ombric snarl; and then he's before him, and that heavy staff has connected with the side of Pitch's face, probably knocking out a few teeth._

_"North and those Guardians never bothered to spread the word aout me! All of their pompous pride and joy at the miserable brats who they 'protect' from you, hah! Your little plan earlier in the year was a slight inconvenience, you know, but I saw the advantage; I showed North and Tooth and Sandy and that rabbit how easily their power could leave them, but then, can you imagine, the Man in the Moon found a new Guardian! I never expected that! Of course, Frost really is the worst kind of enemy; he's a fool, but fools can do the worst damag. I needed to work around his little ice magic. Fun really is difficult to beat down." Ombric sighed dramatically and leaned lazily agains his staff._

_"And the girl?" Pitch risked asking, making Ombric chuckle._

_"Oh yes, sweet, innocent litle Darcy Malone. The real reason that you came to see me, Pitch. When I brought down Atlantis, yes, tha was my doing, and it was fun, apparently a woman escaped. A single woman, how insignificant she was. She escaped, and bred the magic in her bloodline; howver, it lie dormant in her thing with magic, Pitch; it only appears in a single line to the one who is strong enough to weild it. Darcy is the first human born with Atlantian powers in such a long time..."_

_"What?"_

_"She was coming into her powers a few years ago, but then the tragedy with her mother...it really silenced them. Emotional weakness set it back some, but I suppose the inevitable can't forever be delayed. I called Darcy back to Burgess; I healed her wounds, I put the broken shell back together, to make my next pawn. Burgess isn't just Jack's little hangout, you know; it bears magical traces of him, and you, and the battle that took place there. It's something like a chemical reation, I suppose...oh well; her magic has begun to awaken, you know." Ombric's expression, which had been relatively benign up until this point, became savage. "But then, you had to ruin my plans! You had to show yourself too early, you worthless fool!" The long nails slashed just under his eye, but his time Pitch just glared. "You had to jump the gun and go after Jamie Bennett the moment that you got out of that **pit**!" Ombric snarled, "I had everything planned, every minute detail, to the letter, but you just can't play by the rules, can you! All her powers reacted to you before I could do anything else!"_

_"What?" Pitch asked; he knew very little about Atlantian culture; but he remembered that when the magic in a person reacted to another, it meant-_

_"Her magic rcognized you as her true mate!"_

"Ombric planned on killing me; he forgot about my shifting powers, and when his back was turned, I came to the first place I could think of to get you all together." Pitch finishes, sipping the black coffee that North handed him (how the oaf knew his favorite drink he wasn't aware, but it was much appreciated, seing his condition).

North sat in absolute stunned silence next to the bed; there was no tace of falsehood in Pitch's face, no halting of sentences or bravado; this was the truth, and those injuries confirmed it.

No, this couldn't be true.

"I...I must speak to Manny." North grunted. Pitch raised an eyebrow.

"Don't you think that the fact he consented to heal me if proof enough that I speak the truth North?"

And it was.

"So Darcy, she is your..." North grasps for a word, "soul mate?"

"Apparently so. Our individual magic balances one another out, so said Ombric, when he had his invisible servants beat me."

"Are you planning on telling her this?" Pitch rolled his eyes in disgust.

"And drive her to Ombric? No. I sincerely doubt that that was the truth; ombric has always been a snake in the grass North, although it's unfortunate that your mortal, or immortal as the case may be, enemy must be the one to make you believe so."


	10. Chapter 10

**Drama in this chapter folks, so settle in, because I kinda like how this is starting to turn out. For a while I got hazy about the fic, but my passions have been reawoken, thanks to the wonderful reviews that I've been getting since I last posted. Keep it up, if you want more (almost at one hundred, whoo!)**

**Just so you all know, I may change the rating on this to M, with the next chapter, and with some upcoming stuff, so, you know, be ready (I'm considering writing a scene between Pitch and Darcy, totally consensual, but I'd need to change the rating, and I'm contemplating just making an exerpt fic). Give me your opinions on which one would be better, but it won't show up for a good little bit.**

**Thank you everyone that's reviewed, you're keeping me alive! Love you all!**

_Outside of the library, the snow fell, nearly blue in the reflection. Darcy didn't notice them though, so caught up in the tall stack of books that she was reading at her own leisure, for once, rather than what the school had ordered her to do. The chair was close to the fireplace, and precarious stacks of books piled up around her at fantastical angles that shouldn't be possible._

_She'd searched the library from top to bottom, looking for something that she couldn't remember; hence the books. There was only so much time to find It, whatever It was. Finally, she settled on the one she was now flipping through, hoping that this was the right one._

_Part of Darcy knew it was a dream, but she didn't acknowledge it; instead, she focused on the thick leather book open on her lap, a book of fairy tales. She'd had a weakness for them since she was little, and had harbored a preference for the fantastical and the impossible._

_Something moved from the corner of her eye, but Darcy only looked up through her lashes, without moving her head. A small, round man was perusing the shelves, humming to himself. He wore what looked like a white suit, but it was hard to tell from behind. Without realizing it, Darcy abandoned her attempts to read and openly watched him._

_"Have you found what you wanted?" He suddenly asked, without turning to look at her._

_"Pardon?"_

_"Everyone comes to the Great Library for a specific purpose. They are all looking for something. Did you find it?" He clarified, turning around finally; his face, his eyes, his nose, everything was round. But his smile was kind._

_"I don't know." Darcy replied. Why was she here? What had she come for? "Who are you? What is this place?" He chuckled, and walked smoothly over to the circle of armchairs, sitting down with a small gold book in his hands, stroking gthe cover fondly._

_"Calm yourself, my dear. Have you not guessed who I am? We have time yet, think on it for a moment." He teased gently; and Darcy did get another look at him. She took a good long look, and thought about the sense of serenity that he inspired, but also of distance and security, before it occurred to her with a jolt._

_"You're the Man in the Moon." He laughed, and nodded, clapping his hands enthusiastically._

_"Oh, right on. How long has it been since I've actually spoken to someone...must be centuries, so forgive me for my formal attitude. As for this place; Darcy, you've inadvertently stumbled upon the Great Library that Katherine keeps."_

_"Mother Goose?"_

_"Yes, she protects it with a special spell, but your...powers, seem to have short circuited the spells I believe. Now, lean closer, let me have a better look at you." Obediently, Darcy scooted closer off the cushion, as his strange eyes (they seemed to reflect anywhere from grey to gold in the firelight) studied her intently. It made Darcy nervous; why did he want a better look? Before he giggled and clapped his hands together enthusiastically (again). "I see it now! Wonderful, wonderful! I'll admit, I was more than a bit nervous about what you may start, but I'm confident that you'll do well. Now, onto the Great Library; this is where everything that ever was, or may be, is stored. Everything has a place here, fables, legends, songs and histories, it's all here. Katherine keeps this place for those who need, truly need, whatever it is that they're looking for. Under recent circumstances, though, she's temporarily closed it. Apparently, you broke in though, I believe your people sometimes call it Astral Travel?"_

_Darcy blinked, and shrugged; was she dreaming?_

_"Yes, Darcy, you're dreaming. But dreams always have meaning to them; you need something here, and you haven't found it, have you?" Darcy instinctively wants to nod, because although she likes this man, she doesn't quite trust him. Instead she finds herself shaking her head._

_"I don't know why I'm here. I'm confused." She admitted quietly; she sounded every bit the scared child that she was, hiding behind the magic and the stubbornness and the masks._

_"Well that's normal. Most people don't know exactly what they need to know, so they wander aimlessly through the stacks. Katherine doesn't have time to help them sort through everything, but they aren't in your situation. I saw you here, and I decided that we must converse." He held out the gold book, and Darcy took it without hesitating. The moment that her fingers touched the cover, a warm feeling spread from te tips of her fingers to her toes._

_Darcy pulled it close, feeling something...hum, inside of her with the book in her grasp._

_"I take it that's what you needed then." MiM noted, Darcy just watched him._

_"What is it?" She asked slowly. MiM sighed and tapped his chin thoughtfully; how would he explain this to such an innocent._

_"I'm not able to tell you all that there is to know, Darcy. Even I have rules to follow. All that I can say for the moment is that you are beginning to grow in a way no one could have imagined for you."_

_"Whatever." MiM sighed; Darcy had a good heart, but she wasn't the most stable of all heroines, and frankly, he wouldn't place money on her if he had a choice. "I'm only here temporarily."_

_"No, Miss Darcy, you're not in this for a day; you're very important for the Guardians and their upcoming battle. You're not going to be able to walk away from this, now that the ball has begun to roll, I'm afraid."_

_"What ball? What's going on?" _

_"Just take the book. Everything that you need is there. Tell everyone that I said hello. And, my dear, please go easy on Pitch; he's a little overwhelmed and out of his element at the moment." Before MiM had even finished speaking, the sound started to get fuzzy, and the light began to shift, and dissipate. The last thing that Darcy saw as she seemed to fall away from the Great Library was MiM's slightly condescending smile._

(line)

Darcy wakes up wrapped in a warm blanket; she feels tense and she doesn't know exactly why. Moments ago, she was perfectly relaxed, but she isn't sure what has changed. It takes a moment for her to realize that she's in what must be the Hospital Wing of Santoff Claussen, because she can smell the chemicals and the medicine that she woke up to after her life was shattered. Since she came out of the meds induced stupor, and then the coma, she's had an instinctive distrust against the smell of medicine.

Darcy makes herself sit up, and winces when she feels something sharp dig into her ribs. She reaches under her and fishes out a small, thick book, bound in gold leather.

Her heart freezes; this is the book from her dream.

With trembling hands, she holds it to her chest. That wasn't a dream.

Darcy can't do anything about that now, except maybe tell North about it, but first, she has to get out of here.

Although the fort is large, the healing area is very small, comprising of only a single room, made up of 30 or so beds. As Darcy looks around, she realizes that Pitch isn't present, and that she is in here alone.

_How long was I asleep?_ she wonders absently; couldn't be too long, but when had she even fallen asleep. Everything was fuzzy before the not-dream...

Darcy slid out of bed, flinching as her bare feet made contact with the floor.

(Line)

North didn't expect the others to take Pitch's story well, and had been prepared to restrain Bunny, in case he got violent.

Remarkably, Bunny had managed to stay calm throughout the story, though he glared at Pitch with all he was worth, until Pitch had let slip the part about Darcy and he being 'true mates'.

"Ye bloody bastard! Yeh put yer mitts on tha' girl I'll shove this lucky rabbit's foot so far up yer-"

"Bunny please calm!" North shoves the Pooka back into his seat, but Bunny was having none of it.

Pitch had destroyed his family and his species; he'd nearly destroyed the Guardians less than a year ago; he'd tried to kill not only them, but also innocent children because they'd stood in the way of his getting into power, and had (temporarily) turned Sandy into a Nightmare, as well as ruined Easter. Now, he had the nerve to try and lie about a trusted friend off theirs, and had the audacity to claim that he and Darcy were soul mates or whatever? No, no, that wasn't about to happen.

"Bunny, please, let him talk!" Tooth presses, her wings fluttered nervously behind her.

"No! Have ye all lost yer minds! Yer trustin a creature that's tried to ruin us throughout time! He's ruined our lives!"

As they argued, Jack stays silent; he watches the scene with a type of thoughtfulness that none of them can say they'd thought he could possess.

Jack has learned, after years of being ignored, to see things most others can't. The majority of the time, though, he's your average 17 year old boy. While his family argues, Jack watches Pitch, and sees the nearly defeated hunch in his shoulders, and the quiet way that he seems to fiddle with his robe.

He hates the Nightmare King as much as the others, but he doesn't believe that Pitch is lying right now.

"-Manny healed him, Bunny! Tell me, why would MiM heal his own worst enemy if he lies about something so major!" North demands, looking every bit like his former "Nightmare of the Cossacks" days.

"And the sheila? Are you honestly telling me that you believe that they're mates!"

"Actually, I'm wondering about that as well." Tooth admits, hesitantly, Baby Tooth chirping her two cents worth as well.

"Look, rabbit, I'm only relaying what he said. I don't know if that's true or not." Pitch defends, raising his hands in surrender; frankly he could care less about whether or not the rabbit cared. All he needs to believe him are North and Frost, and he's relatively certain that Ombric can be taken care of.

All that the Rabbit and Fairy know is brute force and numbers; Ombric uses magic to fight his battles, and while North also has his strength as an advantage, he's also a rather talanted magician (hence the magical toys no one replicate), and Frost has a type of magic that defies the normal laws of reality. Sandy might also be able to help, but the dream maker is only a threat to him, so he's rather biased in his view about it.

"So, you admit, that you don't want Darcy? She's a pretty attractive female, or haven't you noticed?" Bunny tempted, Pitch rolls his eyes and gives the rabbit a slightly patronizing look.

"Hiding something, are we, cottontail? Those are your words, not mine. She's like any other human, to me." Pitch lies.

Of course he's noticed Darcy's appearance; he'd be a fool if he hadn't. But that's nothing to do with what he may be to her, or vice versa, and the rabbit is only trying to get under his skin.

Jack only noticed that someone had answered the room after Pitch had said this, and saw a hurt looking Darcy clutching something to her chest. Her eyes were locked on Pitch, and before she said anything, he realized, that she'd heard the last sentence.

There was an awkward silence as everyone took in Darcy's appearance; the hurt look is gone quickly, replaced by one of kind contentment.

"Hey, everyone. How long was I asleep?" Darcy asks; Jack notices a book under her arm, but doesn't mention the white knuckled grip that she has on it.

"Only a couple of hours, Darcy. You seemed really tired; we thought we should let you rest." Tooth admits, flitting to her side. Sandy made several symbols above his head, and takes a moment for Darcy to figure out what he's asking.

_How did you sleep?_

"Oh, I slept alright; I had a really nice dream. You're work, I'm guessing?" She teases gently, Sandy grins and shrugs.

_Anything to help a friend._

Darcy grins right back and eyes Pitch coolly; he's the only other one to see Darcy's calm hurt and anger, but if he reacts to it, no one notices, not even her.

"You look better, Pitch. Healed alright?" He chuckles without humor.

"Yes. Apparently Manny thought it would be best to assist in my well being; the wonders of magic, I suppose." Darcy nodded, but then seated herself on the floor, cross legged.

"So, what's going on?" She asks, and the story is relayed to her.

"An' then, as if we're gonna believe this, apparently, Ombric told Pitch that you were-"

"A pawn," Pitch interrupts; everyone turns to look at him, but he's watching Bunny with a very intense glare. "According to Ombric, you are descended from Atlantian Magic. Your powers have begun to awaken, and it's strength is something that he desires. He had you return to Burgess, where magical residue is still highly apparent."

"But what for? Why is he trying to use me?"

"Ombric has, I believed, become somewhat unhinged in his time alone. He's...aiming to ruin everything."

"Like you?" Bunny snaps, Pitch rolls his eyes.

"I admit my mistakes, Rabbit, what more do you want? Anyhow, my plan was to gain believers; you were all in the way. If I'd have thought you'd have conceded to letting a child have a nightmare every now and then, I wouldn't have done anything. Oh, and a visit every now and then would have been nice as well, it does get lonely, you know." Darcy giggles at his petulant attitude.

"So, the next question is, what can be done?" Tooth asks; she rather likes Ombric, and she wants to try and help him, if they can.

"I think that we should pretend that Pitch is still the enemy." Jack says slowly. No one says anything, so he continues talking. "From what everyone's told me about Ombric, he has a serious case of megalomania, it sounds like. When Pitch didn't follow his plan, he beat him within an inch of his life. He doesn't expect things to go astray from his plan, and right now, since he knows everyone's secrets, our best bet might be to pretend that we don't know anything."

"Oh, so I'm to be alone again?"

"No Pitch, not safe. It's already been demonstrated that Ombric's magic can make your darkness useless. You will have to stay here, where is safe." North says kindly; the Boogeyman laughed derisively, and everyone noticed as the few shadows in the room grew restless and the lights flickered.

"I'm to stay here?" North nods and that laugh turns bitter. "In case you haven't noticed North, I'm not quite meant for the warm and fuzzy and cheerful," he shivered dramatically before he began to pace, his arms behind his back. "If I stayed here it would be worse than a prison; this place is my own version of hell."

"Wait just a bloody minute!"

"And besides, your pet rabbit may just have an aneurism."

"We're just buddies with this blighter now!"

"Bunny, please; there isn't much else that we can do with him-"

"I happen to be standing right here." Pitch mumbles, crossing his arms.

"But the better question is what about Darcy?" Darcy suddenly found herself under everyone's careful scrutiny again. Pitch notices that she seemed to curl in on herself under the attention, and noted the blush that dusted from her cheeks down her neck. "We can't just leave her alone, if she's Ombric's target, then we can't just leave her in Burgess."

"And what about Jamie and Sophie?" She asks nervously, afraid for the two. "I don't think that Ombric is going to be able to leave them alone if he's as crazy as everyone seems to be describing." Sandy scratches his head, and an image appears above him; a crescent moon.

"Good idea, Sandy! We ask Manny for advice!" North booms, before Darcy decides to speak up.

"Um, he's aware of the situation." She interrupts, quietly. North's eyebrows draw together. He too noticed the book.

"Darcy, is there something that you should be telling us?"

"It's...a bit confusing." So, quietly and hesitantly, Darcy relayed her dream, and the strange conversation with Manny where he'd spoken with riddles and in hints. "...he told me that there are rules to follow, and that he can't say anything to me, or to us."

At that moment, Phil the yeti interrupts, speaking in his growls and gibberish, North translates that Jamie and Sophie are asleep in the workshop, and should be taken home before they are all missed.

"Who's taking us, then?" Darcy wonders out loud.

In the end, Bunny volunteers to do it, and gathers Jamie up in his arms while Darcy takes Sophie. North allowed Darcy the book, because "if Manny gives to you, alright with me." And no one had disagreed with him.

"I can only take yeh to the treeline in the backyard, but it's not a walk. Yeh'll all be fine." He says gruffly, and Darcy nods.

Now that the tale is relayed to him by Pitch, Bunny can understand why he was getting such an odd feeling from Darcy; Atlantian Magic is a type of earth magic, and it's very volitile, especially when it's beginning to mature. Because he was more in tune with the earth than the others, he supposed it would only make sense that her magic reacted differently with him.

The tunnel navigation took a bit, because he wasn't going to go full speed; so, an hour later, he assisted Darcy back up to the surface and helped her get a grip on both the kids.

"Look, I'm not supposed ta give yeh this, but because of all that's goin' on, I thought that yeh would need this." With a bit of effort, he managed to place a snowglobe into her hand. "Only for an emergency, yeh saw how it's done, yeah?"

"Just say the destination and throw it?" Bunny nods, and Darcy smirks. "Jack uses snowballs."

"Jack is a winter sprite. It's different fer him. You watch yerself, we'll come get yeh all soon as we figure out what's goin on. He'll check in on all of yeh, but try and stay away from anything stange or unusual fer now." Bunny warns, before suddenly looking like he'll be sick.

"Thank you Bunny. Tell the others that I said that as well?" Darcy whispers; Bunny nods, and without warning pulls Darcy into a fierce hug. His fur is warm and soft, and it makes Bunny want to giggle.

"G'bye," and then he disappears down the rabbit hole.

Darcy smiles one last time, and struggles to shift things around; she now as Jamie on her back, Sophie clinging to her front, and a book and a snowglobe in her grasp.

Just another day in paradise.

(line)

"Pitch, why didn't you want Bunny telling Darcy about what Ombric said?" Jack asks quietly, approaching the brooding shadow.

"It isn't your business."

"Darcy's a friend, Pitch. It's my business." Jack says obstinately; he doesn't think he's ever seen the Boogeyman look as lonely and out of place as he does right now, milling around as their impromptu meeting is on break.

Pitch thinks on it, half tempted to tell the truth; that he doesn't think that Darcy knowing about the plans of a madman will help her. She doesn't need to know the way Ombric is planning on manipulating her future and her fate.

"Because, Frost, I always need an ace up my sleeve."

Electric blue eyes meet gold in skeptiscism.

(line)

Darcy sits with Amy in the kitchen where, mere hours ago, there was so much laughter and joy. Now there is awkwardness and sad silence. Amy stares at her long cold mug, and Darcy knows that she must have fought with Neil again. Ordinarily, she wouldn't stick her nose in their business, but she needs to know what grounds they're on, and how soon she should need to move out.

Jamie and Sophie are tucked in again, dead to the world, so Darcy risks it.

"Where did Neil go?" She asks coolly. Amy smiles sardonically.

"Would you like the lie or the truth?"

"Both, if you don't mind."

Amy pushes her glasses up her nose and sighs. Where did her life go, that she was discussing her marital problems with her 18 year old neice? "He says that he's pulling overtime, extra money for _Christmas._" Amy spits out the word, cold outrage coming in, before pulling back out like the tide. "He's either at Martha's, or he's down at the Oasis." Darcy remembers the small pub on Main Street that her aunt speaks of, but she's disturbed at the resignation in her voice. "I loved him once, Darcy, and I know he loved me...but, but what happened to him?" Amy's eyes overflow with tears and Darcy puts a comforting hand on her shoulder. "He's so mean to Jamie, just because he's not the son that he wanted, and he never pays attention to Sophie. He isn't the man that I married, and I don't know what to do!"

Darcy let Amy cry and rant, occasionally mumbling something, but mainly listening. She was used to this kind of thing; her friends used to think that she had all the answers, and if not, well she was always a very good listener.

Eventually, Amy calms and apologizes, before heading up to bed herself. Darcy does the dishes, and then goes up to her room, intent on doing something relaxing, as she isn't tired.

She shuts and locks the door, settling for collapsing onto her mattress and groaning.

Down the street, she can hear a group of drunks singing off key, and laughing wildly. She feels her lips pulls back in an instinctive snarl, and imagines that she can smell the whiskey on them.

The group comes ever closer, and she gives a start as she see's Neil in the streetlight, leading the pack. Disgusted, she shuts her curtains, and tries to think of something to do that could settle her temper.

Her eyes land on the book.

(line)

Ombric smirks to himself as he manipulates the anger in weak Neil's heart, and makes it fester and grow.

_"Remember,"_ he hisses into his dizzy mind, so simple to confuse, _"how she speaks badly to Sophie and Jamie. How she undermines you. How the bitch has the nerve to speak back to you! You must teach her a lesson. Her and the whore that she insisted on letting move in, who tells those simple children those fairy tales that mean nothing! Punish her! Punish them! Make them regret crossing you!"_

Neil doesn't know where these thoughts are coming from; all that he knows is that he's powerful tonight, and brave, and he feels like a man. He's got a group of sympathetic friends who want to help him in this mission.

He didn't notice their empty fog colored eyes, or the strange way they spoke, without tone or feeling, as if they were cheap puppets in a play.

**REVIEW YOUR OPINIONS! ESPECIALLY IF YOU WANT MORE!**


	11. Chapter 11

**Okay, this chapter is seriously dark and depressing and violent. Sorry it took so long to get together, folks, but this is a big milestone, and I had to bump the rating up to M because of the violence and what happens to Amy and nearly happens to Darcy. I didn't have a choice because I want to play it safe, and I don't want to get booted off my account.**

**Thank you everyone who reviewed this last chapter, it meant so much, because I've almost hit 100 reviews, and it makes me so proud. You keep me going! Love you all, hope you enjoy it.**

**Ciao!**

Darcy sits cross legged on the mattress and flips open the book; the pages are aged and yellowing, very thick. This isn't just a printed book, no, this is hand written, with violet-black ink. Strange diagrams are drawn every so often, and there are pictures of stones, plants, animals, and odd things that Darcy can't name right off the bat. The words are in cursive, and though she can read cursive, the actually language is one that's unfamiliar. It isn't English, Latin, Gaelic or even German. Darcy frowns and pulls the book closer, before absently turning a page.

"Ouch, dammit," she hisses, as the page slices into the meaty ball of her thumb; blood bloomed onto the page, and she absently sticks her thumb into mouth, sucking on the injury and tasting the coppery rust as it floods her tongue.

The blood on the page stayed where it was for a moment, before Darcy blinks; where it had just sat on the page in on spot, it now seemed to be sucked into the page, and spread like a virus, darkening the sheet to a deep crimson brown, and then continuing to the next, until the whole book seemed to be that color; Darcy's throat closes up, and she opens her mouth to scream in panic, but...

It's gone.

Darcy takes a shaky breath, and hesitantly touches the page, expecting anything to happen. But nothing does.

She looks at the pages, but at first, nothing is amiss; she can't see anything different on the page…until she looks at the words again, and realizes, with a cold feeling in her stomach that she can see the words differently, and worse, understand them.

With trembling fingers, Darcy turns to the front cover, and nearly shrieks as she witnesses the words reform themselves into a readable language.

**The Most Noble of Atlantian Magicks and Rites**

_Oh my god…_ Darcy thinks brokenly, as she reads the title again and again. _This is a book of magic. I'm a…descendant of Atlantis…this is happening…_

It was without question that she opened to the first page, and nearly paled; this wasn't like a joke book of spells at a bookstore or a novelty shop; the language was archaic and complicated, and Darcy has to backtrack more than once before the first page is finished. The first spell, or that is what Darcy will call it, is sending basic visions and messages.

It's not complicated, though, once Darcy begins to read between the lines, and in theory, she thinks that she could actually do something similar to what the instructions describe to her; strong concentration, harnessing of power, and, apparently a drop of blood within a summoning circle. The circle itself is actually a very simple design that Darcy recognizes as an alchemists circle. She flip to the back of the text, and finds a very complicated one, it has intricate shape within shape, and strange runes and sigils within.

She's memorizing the technique again, just to be safe, when she hears the crash from downstairs.

(Line)

Amy hears the banging on the door and hurries downstairs, tying her bathrobe around her body and slipping on her glasses and house shoes as she scurries to get the door, although she doesn't want to answer it. This late, it can only be Neil, and he's probably drunk as a skunk.

She sighs and unlocks the deadbolt, but before she can touch the doorknob, it flies open, knocking her back so hard she stumbles.

_Why? _She'll think to herself later, _why didn't I check through the peephole before I opened the door?_ Darcy will think something along the same lines, although it will be filled with curses anger at both her Aunt and Uncle.

Neil stands in the doorway, smiling terribly peacefully.

"Hello, Amy. Have a pleasant night? Tell me, why was the door locked?" Neil asks, sauntering inside. Amy clutches at the collar of her robe, the hair at the back of her neck standing up, as if touched by a cold wind. Neil's voice is different, the same, but his speech is different. It's more formal; and so much more threatening.

"N-Neil, it was locked against trouble, like it always is. I thought you had your keys." Amy says, struggling and failing to control the quaver in her voice.

"Well you thought wrong, didn't you?"

"It isn't my business where you leave your keys, Nei-" Neil's backhand connects with Amy's face in such a sharp crack it's almost like a gunshot, and it's enough to make a little boy upstairs stir in unease.

"SHUT UP!"

Amy numbly touches her cheek; the roar of pain only starts then, and then the tears begin to well in her eyes, a cold anger welling up in her as years of neglect, and hate and disappointment in her husband and the father of her children finally reach a climax and she replies, with the calmest voice she can muster, "I want a divorce Neil. I think you should go."

When Neil laughs, Amy is certain that this is going to end violently, and she's afraid that it could even go fatally.

"Hear that, boys, she wants me to leave." His laughter is uncontrollable now. "The house that I bought, that I paid for!" Neil's fist is quick and embeds itself in Amy's stomach so fast that all Amy can do is gasp in pain and double over. That same fist smashes into her cheek (later she will find out that the bone was shattered) but for now all that Amy can register is nova like pain under her eye as a moan of pain escapes.

Amy blacks out a bit after that, and she doesn't really remember anything.

Jamie is the one who watches in horror and sees what she feels, and is forced to remember, for the rest of his life.

He watches from the shadows as the men that had been on the porch walk into his home calmly, smiling dazedly as his father kicks his mother in the ribs and stomps on her head, the blood staining the hardwood floor (_the floor she works so hard to keep clean,_ he thinks, and bursts into sudden tears). Jamie watches with frightened eyes as the men laugh and jeer Neil on with, _Make the bitch suffer; hit her harder, no fun when she isn't screaming; you call that a kick you pussy?_ Jamie doesn't know what that word is, but somehow he doesn't want to know. Jamie watches as his father kicks his mother onto her back, and she blinks up at him blindly. He watches her mouth tremble as she struggles to find words, and finally manages a weak, "Neil, please" before her sneering husband steps onto her face. Jamie feels bile rise in the back of his throat as the sick crunch of Amy's broken nose, and the thick shatter of the glasses' lens' reverberate more than he should. He's sick all over the hallway rug.

"Pretty thing." One of the men says in a thickly slurred voice.

"She was before she became a nagging harpy," Neil agrees, sounding strangely chipper.

"Mind if we, eh, have a go?" Another asks, and Neil smiles wickedly, the glint in his teeth visible from even the second floor.

When the men advance on his mother, and the first begins to unzip his fly, Jamie can watch no more, and run up the hall, his only thought being to get Darcy, even as he wanted nothing more than to wretch on the floor again.

(Line)

Darcy has just finished making the summoning circle with perfect accuracy (she isn't bragging, it just happens to be a fact, as she's spent more than 20 minutes copying the diagram from the book), when Jamie bursts into her room in a mess of tears and vomit.

"Jay what" She turns, but he's immediately latched himself onto her and starts sobbing into Darcy's chest unable to speak coherently.

She rocks slightly and wraps her arms around him, humming slightly as Jamie tries to make her understand.

"What's wrong, hon? Another nightmare?" She whispers gently, carding her fingers through his hair.

"No, no, worse!" He finally gasps; by now he is streaming tears, snot, spit and vomit, but Darcy doesn't pay it any mind.

"Jamie, Jamie honey, what's wrong?" If she paid any heed to the words, she'd have realized that she was sounding like a younger version of her mother. But Darcy just kept up the comforting gestures as Jamie started to calm.

"It's it's Dad!" He wailed, looking so frantic that Darcy paused. "He, he an' Mom, they, he! There's men down there and they're hurting her!" Darcy stares at him before remembering the drunks that had followed Neil home.

"Jamie, I need you to listen to me," already, Darcy is calm, understanding something may have just come close to breaking Jamie. "I need you to stay in here; I'm going to get Sophie, and bring her up. You're going to take the snow globe that Bunny gave me, for emergencies and go to Santoff Claussen. You need to tell them to get here, fast. I'm gonna try and see what I can do for your Mom. Can I count on you to do that for me?" She asks, looking him straight in the eye. Jamie sniffs.

"I'm scared," he whispers, but Darcy smiles wanly.

"It's okay to be scared, Jay Bird. But right now, I need you to be brave for Sophie and your Mom. I'll be right back, I promise." And with that, Darcy creeps downstairs as quickly and as quietly as she can.

She can hear the grunting and the laughs, and she also sees the vomit where Jamie was overcome with disgust; but she pushes on and blocks everything out, even her Aunt's broken pleas for reprieve and mercy. She focuses on the tiny tot at the end of the hall.

Darcy doesn't make a noise as she creeps into Sophie's room; she doesn't wake her, instead wrapping her in the fuzzy pink blanket and covering her eyes with it, to shield her. The noise was so loud now, downstairs, that she hurried to get Sophie upstairs, and in that, slipped her footing. A floorboard creaks under her.

One of the men downstairs stops watching and sees something dart away in a flash of color. He grunts, and thinks back to the bar, when Neil had been talking.

"Oi, didn't you say you had a neice living here?"

"How old is she?" Another asks, this one sounding more than curious.

"18 or something." The men smiled at one another, and for the first time, Neil had his doubts about this.

Then everything went black as a heavy marble knickknack came crashing down to the back of his head.

The men chuckle and finish up with Amy at the same time that Darcy puts Sophie in Jamie's arms.

"I'll bring back help," Jamie promises. Darcy nods, and picks up the snowglobe.

"Santoff Claussen!" The luminescent portal opens in a swirling vortex when it hits the ground, and Darcy pushes Jamie through.

Darcy feels the adrenaline pump through her veins as the situation is processed again. Without hesitating, she strides to the medium sized, maple box on the desk. It's almost dull, compared to the strange treasures that the kids had played with. She pulls the key from under a jade tiger and unlocks it, but instead of a lid, a small compartment opened cleanly. Reaching in, she cleanly plucks out a switchblade razor.

She hadn't touched it since she'd left Ireland, but she'd kept it sharp enough to slice just about anything back then. It goes without saying that it isn't dull.

_So much for never again, right Daddy?_ Darcy thinks wryly, with a shrill giggle.

(Line)

_It had been raining for a week steady, and the little brook at the bottom of the property had flooded. The thunder had boomed like a bass drum in the sky, and lightning flared with irregular intervals like white hot veins in the darkness of the clouds. _

_She'd been holed up in her room for that week, only coming out when her father had passed out on the couch or had stumbled into the bathroom, or outside, whichever came first. As for the present, he'd gone down to the pub HOURS ago, and secretly Darcy had prayed he'd drown in a ditch at the bottom of the road, since the cheap bastard wouldn't pay to get the car fixed._

_It was warm in her room; she was wrapped tightly in a quilt, a steaming cup of tea beside her, a stack of books were there as well. _

_Darcy was as relaxed as she could be, and even though she was processing the words in front of her, she was also thinking a mile a minute; her father was getting worse, and she wouldn't be able to take this forever._

_What had once been guilting had since turn to verbal bashing, and had finally gone physical; the bruises on her upper arms were proof enough of that. Before, she had thought that if she could just handle it until she was old enough to move out, but now that plan was going out the window. Very, very quickly._

_"DARCY! WHERE THE HELL ARE YOU, LAZY BRAT!" Something crashed in the hallway, and Darcy sighed shutting the book gently and standing up._

_She exited her room and immediately knew that something was worse tonight._

_Those thoughts were confirmed when her father loomed over her, a hulking figure that staggered and smelled like alcohol, urine and tobacco._

_"Where were you?" He hissed; Darcy marveled that, as foxed as he was, he was still able to talk clearly._

_"My room Father." He sneered, his lip curling up in defiance._

_"Yeah?"_

_"Yes, sir." No sooner had the last word passed her lips then her father had surged forward, pinning her easily to the wall, leaning forward so that they were nearly nose to nose. There was a kind of raw hate in his eyes that struck Darcy to her core._

_"You killed her, you little brat! You killed my wife, your own mother! How could you you little-"_

_"I didn't kill her!" Darcy choked out; by now he'd gotten his meaty hands around her throat and was choking the life out of her. Faced by the imminent probability of her death (again), Darcy kicked up and hard, connecting with her father's genitals._

_Connor Malone let out a shout of pain and lessened his grip for a single moment, and in that moment, Darcy had burst out from under his grip and instinctively run to her room. Connor let out a bellow of pain and rage and stumbled after her shouting threats. Darcy was used to those, and kept going, opening the door just enough to bolt in and she threw her weight against it, trying to block Connor entry. But a 5'10'' teenager is no match for a 6'4'' former offensive linebacker and dock worker. Even drunk, Connor was brutally and incredibly strong._

_"OPEN THE DOOR!"_

_"GO 'WAY!" Darcy screamed desperately, trying to think of something to do even as she felt him begin pushing harder on the door. Her eyes flickered wildly, breaths coming in gasps, before her eyes landed on the thin switchblade that Michael had given her the day she left. He was the only one who knew about her father's steadying decline; he had hugged her and pressed it into her hands, with a whispered '**be safe, Darce.'** She'd only ever opened it to sharpen, which she did when she was annoyed or upset, and the razor couldn't help._

_No, she couldn't seriously be considering…_

_But then he slammed against the door so hard Darcy went sprawling to the floor, she tried to grasp onto the nightstand but only succeeded in sending the tea and books tumbling to the floor. _

_For a moment there was silence, and neither moved, and Darcy risked a glance up at Connor, who was looking at her with a strange light that frightened her to the core._

_"You look just like your mother, Darcy," he whispered, and she was disgusted to see tears in his eyes. "Just like Aurora." He took a step closer, and she realized that this wasn't just a regular fight, or even a beating, no, this was going to be something worse._

_Darcy backpedaled, saying things a mile a minute, as fast as she could come up with them. The switchblade was in the drawer of her desk, if she could just make it there…_

_"Dad, I'm not mom! I'm Darcy, I'm your daughter! Please Dad, just go lay down in the living room, we'll talk in the morning!" She begged, even though the words tasted like ashes. She knew that he wouldn't let this go, and that she was only buying herself time to arm herself._

_Connor took a step closer, and Darcy kept scooting back; without realizing it, she was developing a plan, and backed herself into the wall, she tucked her feet under her and waited until he was nearly at her, and then she flew at him. Using her feet, Darcy propelled herself forward and then used the momentum to duck under her father's clumsy attempt to grab her and nearly crashed into the desk._

_Connor roared in rage and swiveled around, he didn't pause in his movements and then rushed at her from behind; Darcy had just gotten her grip on the knife when he got an arm around her neck, crushing at her windpipe._

_"Oh, 'Rora, I missed you," he whispered into her ear, Darcy flailed, struggling and fighting, before she pressed the button and the blade slipped cleanly out (slicing open her palm) and stabbed it into Connor's arm._

_"YOU LITTLE BRAT!" He roared, releasing his grip, Darcy spun on her heel to face him, the blade held out in front of her in defense; her hands trembled and she felt like she was going to be sick._

_"Come near me again, try it, and your guts are gonna be all over the floor," she panted, and for the first time, sobriety and fear seemed to dawn in Connor's eyes._

_"You wouldn't, not to your own da'."_

_"You aren't my father; the moment you started blaming me for Mom's death, that's when I stopped considering you my father. You're a bitter, miserable old drunk who beats on his daughter. I hope you rot in hell. And if you _ever_ touch me again, I'll send you there myself, old man." Darcy sounded older, proud, and dignified, an she meant every word that she said, even if she'd never fully processed it before._

_Connor Malone looked at Darcy and sneered, and took another step, a low laugh building in his throat._

_"You're weak, Darcy. You always have been. A coward. You don't have the guts to end my life." Darcy faltered for half a second, and in that second, Connor rushed at her again. _

_Without thinking about it, Darcy took that switchblade and sliced up, high as she could reach; there was a spray of blood, and moment of disbelief, before Darcy realized what had happened; she'd instinctively cut her father's jugular._

_Connor stood staring down at his daughter in shock, before his large body collapsed, the blood staining the entire front of his shirt and jeans, and soaking into the rug._

_Darcy watched him twitch his last twitch and gasp his last breath; she waited until he was good and dead, before she calmly went into the kitchen and called the police._

(Line)

There had been no charges brought against her, because it was so obvious that it was a life or death situation. Although she'd really liked Ireland, Darcy couldn't stand the way people in the village would stare at her and whisper when she went to get groceries, so she left.

Darcy hasn't ever felt any sort of guilt against killing the old bastard; but she figured she had enough to make up for in the afterlife, and swore not to do anything like that again.

Darcy picks up her cell phone, and dials 911.

**"Hello, 911, what's your emergency?"**

"My name is Darcy Malone; I live with the Bennett's on 821 Devlin Street, off Iron Road; my Aunt's been attacked by my Uncle and several of his friends. They're downstairs now, and I know that my life is in danger. Send someone out quickly, please."

**"Okay, Miss Malone, but how does your aunt look?"**

"Pardon?"

**"I mean, dear, did those little piss ants that I sent send enough of a message to you and Amy?"** A cold feeling dawns on Darcy, as the pleasant operator's voice morphs into something more sinister and less feminine.

"Ombric?" She whispers, realizing exactly how much trouble she's in.

**"Oh yes. I know that the Guardians have spoken with Pitch, and I also know that their little feint won't work. Congratulations, by the way, on realizing who I was so quickly."**

"Wat do you want?"

**"You, Darcy." **A pause. **"Your magic is what I'm after, and I'm willing to give you the chance to give it up."**

"I'm not discussing this on the phone, and I'm sure you realize that this isn't the time-"

"My dear, I am the Lord of Time; I'm sure that I can spare you a few minutes' conversation for something so important." Darcy whirls around and sees the old man leaning heavily on his staff.

"How in the hell-"

"Magic of course. Magic that I could teach you. Think about it, Darcy; all the strange things that tend to happen around you, all the power that you have. I can help you harness it, and channel it. We could rule the world, you and I; the last two Atlantians." His unpleasant flint eyes sparkle greedily at the spot, and Darcy shivers.

"What if I say no?"

"Then I make your life hell. Time is a powerful thing that deserves respect, but I'll use everything in my arsenal to ruin you, to break you and to ensure that no one will ever want you. And that's not all. I'll ruin Jamie and Sophie too." Ombric threatens, pointing a crooked finger at Darcy. "I'll take everything that you love, an I'll destroy it all." Darcy's breath catches in her throat; he's half mad, and he isn't lying, no way. The old bastard will do anything to have her, and she knows it.

"Go fuck yourself." She hisses, making Ombric sigh dramatically.

"Oh, my dear, I was so hoping that it wouldn't come to this, but alas, some things cannot be avoided, I suppose." Darcy blinks, and then he's gone.

For a moment, she doesn't move, but then someone starts pounding on her door.

(Line)

Jamie tumbled out of the portal to the floor of Santoff Claussen, and breaks into a run, screaming for all the Guardians and ignoring Sophie cry of confusion as she wakes up.

"NORTH! NORTH! JACK! BUNNY, TOOTH, SANDY! ANYONE, PLEASE HELP!" Jamie screamed as loud as he could, he ran through the workshop, screaming at the top of his lungs at the yeti and the elves to get North, to get the Guardians, that Darcy is in trouble, and that his mother may be dead.

The yeti rush him to North, and interrupt the meeting between the Guardians and Pitch. Jamie glanced at Pitch and gasped, but he wasn't afraid.

"Jamie, what is wrong?" North asked, Jamie realized he still had vomit on him and then burst into tears.

"DARCY'S IN TROUBLE! MY DAD CAME HOME AN' AN' HE HURT MY MOM, AN' I GOT DARCY BUT SHE WOULDN'T COME WITH ME AN' SOPHIE, SHE JUST SENT US AHEAD TO GET YOU, YOU GOTTA HELP HER, MY MOM MIGHT BE DEAD!" Without wasting have a second the Gaurdians sprang into action, Tooth and Sandy flew off, Bunny and Jack disappeared down one of the many rabbit holes, and even Pitch phased out, into the darkness, flying through the many shadow paths as fast as he could.

Only one though existed in Pitch's mind, _Please hold on._

(Line)

Darcy doesn't know exactly what it is that Jamie might tell the Guardians, so, trapped in her room as she is, she cuts open her finger and presses the blood to the diagram that she had drawn minutes before.

She sends the images to North, Bunny, Jack and Pitch; images and snippets of what she'd heard. She doesn't want to tell them about Ombric in this manner, so she withholds the information until they're face to face.

"OPEN UP!"

"COME ON BEAUTIFUL, WE WON'T HURT YOU!" There was a general guffaw, and then she heard the lock click.

For a moment, she's confused, but then she remembers; Ombric.

Darcy holds the blade in her hand and watches as the men file in, smiling crookedly at her and running their eyes up and down her frame; Darcy is disgusted, but keeps the mask in place.

"Wow, aren't you a little bombshell?"

"What were you doing hiding up here?"

"Care to have some fun?" Their eyes glint evilly and Darcy sneers, clicking open the blade.

"No."

"Too bad, babe, cuz we're horny, and I'm willing to bet you've never fucked a man before." And the man sauntered forward; Darcy was smaller than him by only an inch or two, and drove the knife deep into the would-be attacker's eye. The man screamed, struck out, landing solid hit too Darcy, and another rushed at her, driving his fist into her ribs; Darcy let out a strangled sort of gasp and then they were upon her all at once.

Darcy had never known such pain or humiliation in her life, and screamed; she refused to beg as they beat her, or as they tore at her clothes. _Please,_ she thought, _don't let this happen._ How could the MiM just let her suffer like this? Hadn't he said he wanted to help her along?

_But then,_ a skeptical part of her mind, whispers, _didn't he also say that he had rules to follow?_ Darcy screamed in rage as one of the men ripped he shirt to shreds, exposing her black bra.

"Hot damn, she's fine," one of them grunted, undoing his pants; someone held her arms down, and two others grabbed her legs to hold her still.

And then Pitch arrived.

Darcy looked at him desperately, at the only thing that could save her.

She didn't beg, she didn't plead. Not out loud. But her eyes spoke volumes, and Pitch understood her, just as if she'd been screaming at him. With a snap of his fingers, the shadows had dragged the bastards off her, kicking and screaming as they were devoured by the darkness of their worst nightmares.

Pitch can only watch as Darcy sits up and begins to cry silently.

The part of him that recognized Darcy as his mate wanted nothing more than to comfort her, but he couldn't do that; she'd never expect it, and it would only frighten her farther.

"Are you alright?"

"No, no I'm not. They, they nearly…" She couldn't finish the words, and Pitch couldn't blame her. He coughed and looked away, before absently plucking an emerald long sleeve from the top of a box and handing it to her, awkwardly.

Darcy takes it and whispers, 'thank you', for lack of what to say, and pulled it on.

"You did a spell." Pitch says, finally as Darcy pulls her pants up.

"Hm?"

"You, sent a message to us, when we were coming, about what was going on. Is it that book that MiM gave you?"

"Yeah. Yeah it was."

They don't need to say anything else, because there is nothing left to say. It's enough.

When everyone else arrives, Darcy doesn't tell them everything, just asks them to help her with Amy.

Neither her or Pitch mention the men's attempt.

**Okay, things might get a little ooc from here out; I'm doing my best to keep it similar, but I'm seriously tweaking with the story, and I need a little slack, folks. Review if you want more, and sorry if the violence wasn't what I was alluding to, but, you know, that kind of stuff is really hard for me to write.**


	12. Chapter 12

**Okay, after that last chapter, I needed to write a little bit of fluff (seriously, it took a lot of energy out of me, and it was a bit disturbing, because I had horrible images in my mind. For the lucky writers who don't have that problem and can write all the gore you want, kudos, but I can't, and this is my version of therapy, I guess) So yeah, pretty much just a tender moment between Pitch and Darcy, and a little information on Atlantian Mates (yes, a lot of it is in caps, because in my mind, it's a very big deal for their society, and if you get confused I apologize); they work through some issues so that their relationship can progress, and we learn more about why Darcy was so quick to end her father's life (the reason it didn't come up in the previous chapter will also be addressed).**

**I'm so happy with the responses that I got after I last posted, and I've finally hit 100 reviews! Yes, that's right folks! Thank you so much, it's a really big deal for me, because the more responses that I get from you awesome people, the more I am inspired to write!**

**FYI: I picked Darcy's name out of the blue, it just seemed right with her character, and I found out (because I'm a total geek with no life and no boyfriend) that her name actually translates to Dark. I did not know that when I picked it out, and for a while it was a toss up between Darcy and Danika (that name will be used in a soon to come Harry Potter fic that I'm currently working the kinks from; see the bottom note at the end for details, because I like where my muse is currently going with it).**

**This is important, and it's for all the readers who have Deviantart Accounts; I want to make a cover for this story, and I'm looking for someone to make a picture of Darcy and Pitch together. Please PM me if you're interested, because I'd be so**** grateful.**

**Ciao!**

The police take Neil away; his injuries aren't severe enough that he'll go to the hospital, and his crimes are heinous enough that they don't show him any sympathy. Amy is carted off to the emergency room for surgery.

Later, the doctors will confirm that the entire right side of her face is broken and that her nose needs corrective surgery; the glass from the glass' lenses made it's way into her left eye, but she's still able to see, albeit slightly worse than before. She suffers from internal bleeding in various places, muscle tearing, as well as (shudder) severe vaginal tearing.

Because no one can see the Guardians, they watch as Darcy gives an account to the police; by this time, Jamie and Sophie are huddled on the couch, watching as the police take away their father (Amy was rushed to the hospital before they got back from Santoff Claussen).

Darcy tells the police that there were other men who came in with Neil, and that they also attacked Amy, but she doesn't know what's happened to them. Her account of the events are as follows; "Jamie came upstairs about midnight, I think, might have been later. He was a mess; he was crying and covered in vomit. He told me that Neil was downstairs, and that he and some friends were hurting Aunt Amy, but I don't think he saw the rape. I made him stay upstairs and I came to get Sophie and hid her up there too. I tried calling the police, but something was on the fritz, so I made sure that the kids were safe and tried calling again. By the time you guys actually got here the other men had gone, and Neil was knocked out." They accept the story without much resistance.

The police assure her that they'll find the other perps, and Darcy accepts that without much comment, although she manages to dreg up some fake enthusiasm; Pitch assured her that they wouldn't be found, and that she'd never need to see them again.

(Darcy didn't know this, but Pitch had them transported to his lair where he would later interrogate them and…have a tiny bit of fun)

By the time that the flashing lights are gone, it's close to four in the morning and Jamie is only asleep with Sandy's help; the dream makes Darcy want to cry; a vision of his family, without Darcy.

"You cannot stay here, Darcy." North says gently, resting a large, bearlike hand on her shoulder; everyone in the room can see the delicate stitches that she's presently walking on, but the fact of the matter is that as long as Ombric can reach them here, Jamie and Sophie and Darcy aren't safe, and they need to be moved to Santoff Claussen as soon possible.

"The kids…can't wake them up. You guys go and take them, I'll be along in a minute; I'll just…just be a minute." Although her tone doesn't waver, the absolute stone in her words make Tooth look at her curiously and make Sandy wince; this is the voice of a person who's disconnecting themselves from reality, from emotions, so that they won't suffer, and seeing it in one that's barely out of childhood makes him very sad.

"Take snow globe, we wait for you. You stay the night and morning at Fortress; come back later and call school."

"It's close to Christmas break, the teachers would be able to believe it if I took the kids out of school until break was over; especially with what's just happened." Darcy says distantly as she takes the snow globe from North. She walks upstairs slowly, without another word to the others.

The Guardians all look at one another.

"Someone needs to stay an' make sure she doesn't hurt herself." Bunny says finally, and they all agree.

"I can't; I'm so far behind my schedule right now, if I don't get a move on…" Tooth quiets at the gentle glares of admonition; now is not the time for her chatter.

"Jamie needs me when he wakes up." Jack says.

Sandy doesn't need to say anything either, he's got to get a move on as well.

"How about Pitch?" Jack finally ventures, making even said subject stare at him in disbelief.

"What the bloody hell are you thinking?" Was the general consensus from the group.

"Well, if they're mates or whatever, then, like don't they need to connect, like you guys said?" Jack asks, making them all pause.

The topic had come up in discussion after Darcy and the kids had gone; North had relayed a bit of knowledge of Atlantian Magic, and the Mates that came with them: an Atlantian Mage's (that was what they preferred, at least) magic was almost a separate entity from the Mage. For example, If the Magic thought its host was in danger, then it would take over, and release unbridled magic that was very rarely seen; however, the reason that didn't occur was because the Magic's power was so untamed and wild and powerful, it would actually begin to attack the body of the host from within. Anyway, the Magic was naturally so untamed, it developed a way to ground and stabilize itself; hence the Mate.

The Magic would instinctively select another Mage (traditionally, although the Mate had to have a sort of Magic, even if it wasn't Atlantian) who's Magic was both compatible and opposite. The problem with having a Mate in the first place, though, was that once the Magic recognized that it had a Mate, it would seek to connect and bind with them. If the actual Mage rejected the Mate, then the Magic would turn in on themselves, and they would die (if they were lucky).

However, the problem that the Guardians now faced was serious; if Darcy rejected Pitch, not only would she die, but he would not suffer, because their Magic was so different, and he wasn't limited by the bloodline that Darcy was.

The second problem, and the hardest to accept, was the actual grounding of the Magic; apparently a very ceremonial, spiritual affair, the Atlantians had regarded it as an important milestone in a Mage's life.

In other words, Pitch and Darcy needed to have sex.

(Needless to say, Bunny had not liked that fact and absolutely refused to accept it, insisting that there had to be a better way, especially once he found out that when the Mates were actually bound, not only were their fates tied together, but their magic, their souls and their very lives; to kill one wouldn't necessarily kill the other, but it very well could, and in some stories, death was the better option than living with the void that it would cause)

"I think that Jack is right." North says at length, pulling absently at his beard.

"Have ya bloody well lost yer minds?! We can' trust 'im! How do we know, that he won' take her, soon as he's alone with Darcy, eh? It's asking fer trouble, tha's wha it is!"

At this declaration, Pitch lost the semblance of patience that he'd managed to keep a grip on, and turned to the final Pooka, who flinched in spite of himself at the livid look that the Nightmare King gave him; he hadn't been afraid at all the last time Pitch had attacked, and he didn't know why that look intimidated him now (he refuses to acknowledge it as fear).

It was Sandy who realized what it was, and the thought makes him smile a bit; this is the look of a a man who's lost everything, and has just now come into his own again.

Despite his appearance, Pitch is no more human than Bunny or Tooth; he has a human body, but he isn't limited like North or even Jack by the subconscious desire to conform and please; in many ways, Pitch is more animal than entity, and the way he looks at Bunny right now reminds them; his eyes glow, the shadows rise up to defend him; his teeth are more like fangs, and is Sandy only imagining it, or does he look like he has claws?

Even if Pitch hasn't said it, Sandy can tell that his opposite has accepted Darcy as his Mate.

"Do you honestly _think_ before you open your mouth, you overgrown rodent? If I had wanted the girl dead, she would have been so the first time she interfered with my giving Jamie nightmares! I arrived here before the rest of you, and I _protected _her! Why would I want her dead? I suggest that the next time you open that mouth of yours, you seriously contemplate what is about to come out of it, before I shove a carrot so far down your throat that it'll jam your fucking intestinal system! AM I UNDERSTOOD?" The lights flicker, and Bunny nods, looking strangely pale, even with the fur; if Jack didn't know that Bunny was immortal, he'd say that the Pooka looked like he's had 20 years shaved off his life.

"Pitch has a point Bunny, he's had plenty of chances to end Darcy's life, or steal her, but he hasn't; he's just as involved in this as we are, and we ought to give him a chance," Tooth smiles at him, but Pitch isn't really quick to trust her (he's still not that ready to forget she knocked out a tooth with a single punch; and reimbursed him with a quarter); all the same, he's glad to have at least one person on his side.

"It is decided then, Pitch will keep eye on Darcy, and will bring her back to Fortress." North barks; Sand is the last to leave the house, and the two stare at one another for a very long time.

The two have never been friends, or allies, and neither knows what to say, so Sandy decides to make the first move towards it, so to speak.

The dreamsand forms symbols above Sandy's head, and Pitch nods.

_Take care of her._

"I will." Sand drifts away, leaving Pitch alone. The dream weaver is sure that he will; there's hope for him yet.

It's hard to walk up the stairs, but Pitch manages, and he stands in the doorway as Darcy begins to pack random things from Jamie, and then Sophie's, room; she packs clothes, random toys, several books, anything that she can lay her hands on, without any sense of order or even a thought; Pitch recognizes that she's not entirely there.

Pitch watches in silence, observing the way that although her eyes are focused, at the same time, they are vacant, a glassy stare that he doesn't particularly care for on Darcy, no, not at all. He prefers the look that she had when they first met, the _fire_ and the _fight_ and the desire to _protect_. Her eyes had nearly glowed then, and, looking back, he's ashamed to admit he didn't feel the subtle shift that her magic had provided; he wonders when it was exactly that his feeling for her had shifted?

Maybe they hadn't been quite as violent as he'd first imagined in the first place.

"Would you like to talk about it?" Pitch asks, as kindly as he can.

Now they're in her attic, and she's throwing random clothes into a bag, hardly sparing them a glance.

Darcy stops slowly, and turns to look at him, and he feels nothing but pity; Jamie and Sophie may have just had their world upended, but to look at Darcy now was to see a girl who had not only lost everything for the second time, but also was responsible for two of the most important people in her life; her expression was broken and demure and Pitch hated it.

He wants her to shout, to scream, to cry; anything but this pained look of submission that made her look so beautiful and helpless; helplessness doesn't suit her at all.

"No…no, there's nothing to talk about." She says quietly.

Pitch feels the fear bubbling up again, as well as broken memories that feed into it; he knows enough about human psychology instinctively to know that Darcy can't remain like this, or else she'll be in danger from herself. And using that, he decided to give her a push in the right direction.

"Tell me about your mother, Darcy." He demands, in a tone that suggests he doesn't care, but bored.

"My…my mother?" He feels a sinking feeling in her stomach; if she honestly is having problems keeping tied to the present, then she might be going into shock, or worse, a state of catatonia.

"Yes, your mother."

"Mama…she…she smelled warm." Darcy whispers; although she looks like she's coming out of it, Pitch wonders if maybe she's regressing to the most comfortable age that her subconscious remembers. "When…when she hugged you, it made everything alright, and she smelled so nice; like earth, and summer, and laughter and bright day…" Darcy's hands begin to shake and her eyes fill with tears, "when she smiled, it was like there wasn't anything bad, ever. She, she always hated it when I said so, but she could sing like an angel, especially when I was sick; she'd stay up all night with me to make sure that I was alright, and she'd tickle my ears and sing…" and then she was sobbing so hard that Pitch worried that her throat might be damaged. She drops the sweater that she'd been folding and folds her arms over her chest.

This time, Pitch follows his instincts, and does step forward to hold her, without waiting a moment to wrap his arms around Darcy; who curls into him without hesitating, accepting the comfort at her lowest point.

Darcy buries her face in Pitch's chest, crying harshly and accepting the kind caresses that he gives her, stroking her hair and murmuring so low that she can't hear, but it makes her feel safe nonetheless. Darcy doesn't analyze the comfort that she feels when she's being held by Pitch; the way that it feels almost like she's come home.

Pitch doesn't want to remember how easy it is, how natural, to comfort someone like this; the last time that he'd done so…

_"Papa, please! Don't leave!" The beautiful little girl cried, staring up at him with violet eyes shimmering with tears. Her cloud of dark hair fell smoothly like a waterfall, and Kozmotis felt wounded as he looked down at her; little Seraphina, the perfect copy of her darling mother and the joy of his life._

_"Little one," he knelt down to her height, and felt the breath leave him as she wrapped her arms around his neck tightly. "You know that I must, to keep you safe."_

_"No! Please, Papa, you can't!" _

_"Why not?"_

_"Papa, I…I had a dream last night," the girl whispered, her voice trembling and raw from emotion. "I saw you, I saw the Fearlings swarm you, and heard you cry out for me, Papa, but…then you weren't there anymore…" Kozmotis pulled away and looked at Seraphina in surprise; her Mother had sometimes been able to See, but he'd thought that the gift had died with her, perhaps not…or it could just be a nightmare. _

_"Darling, I swear to you, that I will return." He swore solemnly. His little angel looked up at him fiercely, and he almost laughed; at times like this, he could see himself in her; her sharp tongue, wry wit, and suspicion, she received those from him._

_"Do you swear? As a General?" Kozmotis smiled indulgently and placed his right hand over his heart, he placed the left on the handle of the scythe strapped to his back; he was the only one in the Golden Army who used one, because of how difficult a weapon it was to control, although powerful._

_"I do swear to you, Lady Seraphina Almaeda Pitchiner, that I, General Kozmotis Pitchiner, shall do my duty to the Golden Age and ensure that you, and all of the galaxies, shall remain safe from the Dream Pirates and Shadow Men; I swear to you that I will keep them imprisoned and return to you safely." He declared dramatically, and Sera smiled._

_"Cross your heart?" She asked,_

_"Hope to die."_

_"Stick a needle in your eye?"_

_"In both, if that would please you, dear little Butterfly." He promised, feeling a strong, fierce love and pride for his little Butterfly, whom he might not see again until she was a grown woman and married off to a noble._

_Sera smiled brilliantly at him; her smile outshone a thousand stars, like her mother's, and it was easily said she would be the most beautiful woman in the Cosmos when she was grown and ready to marry._

_She hugged him one last time, and Kozmotis had left, to protect her, to do his duty, to ensure peace for all eternity._

"I don't believe that you know much about me, Darcy," he whispered to her, and she peered up at him with such innocent doe eyes that he felt his inhibitions begin to waver.

This woman was his Mate.

"Would you, would you like to hear a story?" He finally asks, and she nods; Darcy needs to escape reality for a little bit, she needs to disappear.

"I think that would be nice, Pitch." She says, allowing him to lead her to the mattress and sit down with her. She leaned heavily into him, drinking in his warmth and listening to the deep timbre of his voice as he begins to speak.

"Once there was a man who was forced to make a hard decision. He was a warrior, famed throughout the land, and he was the strongest in the army, and the bravest, and the most determined.

"He was a proud man, and he had all that he could have wanted in life, although his life had it's fair share of sadness and hardships; he had a wife who he loved more than the sun and stars, and who loved him in return, but she passed away into the next world during the birth of their daughter.

"They were each other's companions for 8 years, and in the absence of his wife, this man doted on his daughter, and they were as close as a Father and Daughter could be. They spent their days in laughter, and the pursuit of knowledge. One of their favorite things to do was to wander around the meadows and valleys that surrounded their elegant chateu and catch butterflies; they were beautiful, with shimmering wings that seemed to change color as they flew away. His daughter in particular adored them, and he called her Butterfly, because of her beauty, and grace and changeable nature, much like the insect's wings.

"Their kingdom had just come out of a long war, the war that made him famous, and it was a time of revelry. After so much fear, and darkness, the kingdom gladly took in the light, and in the upper society that this man belonged to, party after party was thrown for any excuse a person could think of.

"But, the vanity and happiness didn't last. The prisoners of war were contained in a single prison, and someone needed to ensure that they never escaped. The warrior was volunteered nearly immediately; although he'd fought and lived through many battles where he was the only survivor, and his friends' and comrades killed before his eyes, it still was not enough, and he was needed again.

"He knew there was no choice, and accepted the order; although there was much pomp and flair and many parties in his honor for his bravery, he knew that no one expected him to return. The warrior didn't care what they thought, and he knew that his orders, had he denied them, would have resulted in a scandel; he wouldn't have cared. He had earned a lifetime of peace, should he have wanted. He didn't care for the parties, for the simple people who claimed to be his friends; had it just been them counting on him, he might have turned it down.

"No, he accepted the duty because of the little girl who trusted him more than any other. His daughter's future, he could trust that with no one else.

"The day he left, he swore to his daughter that he would return, swore an oath on his status, and on his weapon, and left the chateau, and his daughter in the care of another wealthy family whom he trusted to keep her safe; with him, he took his weapon, and a locket, inside of which there was a picture of his daughter.

"For many days, he stood watch over his prisoners," Darcy thinks that this story is beginning to sound vaguely familiar... "They called out to him, begged him, threatened him and insulted him; trying to find a way to open the door, the only way out, and the place where the warrior was stationed." And then Darcy knows what this story is and she sees Pitch, almost like the first time.

She sees the millinea of loneliness etched into his face, the hatred and the envy and the knowledge that he wasn't able to live up to his promise, that he'd let down his daughter.

"I'm sorry, Pitch," she whispers, just loud enough for him to hear her.

"What are you sorry for?" He wonders, meeting her gaze; Darcy notices that one of his eyes isn't quite gold so much as silver, and she's vaguely reminded of an eclipse.

"It's you, the story about the warrior, that's where you come from, isn't it?" He nods, and he gets that distant look again.

"My name was General Kozmotis Pitchiner; my daughter's name was Seraphina. Would you like to hear the rest, even though you know the ending?" He smiles a bit, motioning to himself, and Darcy nods, settling back into place and listening again. "They called out to me; the fearlings and the shadows, they knew my darkest fears, and they knew my desires and the called out, trying to find weakness." He shudders, and Darcy touches his arm lightly. "Through all of that, the only thing that kept me going, that made me stay my course and not lose sight of my goal, was that one picture of Seraphina. I looked at it constantly, treasuring every memory that I had, memorizing everything; I never wanted to forget her voice, and that was what got their attention.

"One day, I...I heard her voice, in the middle of the screaming..." he whispers, covering his face with his hands. Pitch is ashamed of this, of how foolish, and what he's become. "I heard her crying to me; 'Papa please, it's so dark in here, Papa' 'Papa help me, I'm afraid'. I knew, I knew that she couldn't be in there, but the seed of doubt, it grew with every plea. What kind of father was I, to let my daughter stay in that hell? How could I not even check?" Pitch laughs bitterly, and Darcy can feel the regret and sincerity in his story. "I opened the door, but she wasn't there. It was all a trick, and look where it got me."

Pitch shakes his head, coming back to himself and gives her an inquisitive look, "how did you know that this was about me?"

"Bunny told me the story of how the Guardians formed, and where MiM came from." Darcy says simply, and Pitch resolves to finally end the Pooka species the next time that he sees that fucking rabbit.

"I suppose you think it's amusing?"

"Why the hell would I think what you've all gone through is funny? I think that it's the saddest thing that I've ever heard, and anyone who laughs is nothing short of an inconsiderate jackass." Darcy says promptly, and Pitch can't help it, he laughs, and he laughs hard, to the point where he nearly can't breathe. "And..." Darcy continues when he begins to calm down again, "I think that's possibly the bravest story I've ever heard." Pitch laughs bitterly and she glares; he's glad that she's back to normal, even if he won't tell her so.

"How could that be? I've caused unmeasurable suffering since I opened that gate, Darcy."

"Pitch, how many people, how many _fathers_ would be willing to face down a prison of fearlings to _check_ and make sure that their own daughter was safe? My father wouldn't have. If you hadn't opened the door, you would have had nothing but a heart of guilt, and I think that would be a literal version of hell. You couldn't have won, and I think that you made the best of a bad conclusion."

"Darcy, I believe you've lost me with that last comment." He says dryly, and she rolls her eyes.

"You're willing to face down a psychotic, egomaniacal wizard with untold powers and control over time; I think that's pretty amazing-"

"I'm a monster, Darcy!" Pitch finally explodes; he stands and snaps his fingers; several dark shapes surround Darcy like animals and more than one sharp point rests just before her neck. Darcy pushes out instinctively, mentally, with her magic making several lights shatter. "I destroy happiness, it's my job! LOOK AROUND! THE GUARDIANS WOULDN'T EVEN EXIST, HAD I NOT BEEN WHAT I AM!" Darcy glares at him; she isn't afraid, and she stands up as well, the shadows moving with her.

Pitch won't hurt her, and he knows that she knows, but he needs to force her hand, and he's just placed a rather hefty gamble that he hopes will pay off.

It does.

"You aren't a monster. I've seen a monster; I saw it the night that I ended my sperm donor father's life." Pitch's eyes widen. "I saw it when he wrapped his hands around my throat and choked me until I lost consciousness; I saw it when he came at me that last night to kill me, and I saw it," her voice wavers but her eyes are steel, "and I saw it when he came home the week before, drunk and mean, and came into my bedroom..." Her chest heaves, and her hair seems to blow around her like it's in a storm that Darcy is creating, "and told me how much I looked like my mama, and how much he missed her, and held me down and took what I can't ever get back; that monster raped me Pitch, and he told me that I deserved it, that I was a monster and a witch, and I've been taunting him and I'll never have anyone! DON'T FUCKING TELL ME YOU'RE A MONSTER, WHEN I'VE SEEN EVIL AND SLIT OPEN IT'S THROAT!" Darcy is an angry wreck by this point, streaming tears, heaving chest, and shaky voice that crackles like static.

Everything comes together too quickly, and it makes Pitch sick; how easy it was for her to accept what the men were about to do, the instinctive mistrust of Neil, the hostility...

"Why didn't you tell anyone?" He asks quietly. Darcy smiles darkly at him; her magic swirls around her, so thick Pitch can almost see it, it streams her hair around her like a storm.

"Because the fucker was wrong about a lot, but that one point is what he got right. LOOK AT ME DAMN IT! WHO THE FUCK WANTS ME! I'M A FUCKING WITCH AND I KILLED MY MOTHER! I'VE GOT NO REASON TO GO ON AND NOW FATHER FUCKING TIME WANTS SOME POWER THAT I DON'T EVEN UNDERSTAND!"

"That isn't true."

"THEN WHY! WHY DOES ALL THIS BULLSHIT HAPPEN TO ME? WHY? CAN THE MAN IN THE FUCKING MOON TELL ME THAT MUCH?! WHY DID HE DO THAT TO ME! HE RUINED ME!" And with that, Darcy launches her self at Pitch in an explosion as their seperate magics meet and attack one another like small firecrackers.

Pitch lets Darcy attack him, let her slam her fists into his chest repeatedly and claw at him, screaming.

"tell me why, tell me, dammit!" Eventually the hits grew weaker and weaker and he just wrapped his arms around her again, before he began speaking, all the while praying to MiM that they'd made progress and that he might have broken through some of the barriers that Darcy has put around herself.

"He didn't ruin you, Darcy. He did something terrible, something that no father should ever do to anyone, let alone their own child. You're an incredible woman, you've come so far, and he hasn't touched the most important part of you; that inner light that Ombric will never understand. You're so brave. You'll move past this, we'll all help; Jamie, Sophie, North, all of the Guardians, we won't let anyone hurt you again." It was only after he'd said all this that he realized that Darcy had fallen asleep, so tired and so spent that she'd just dropped off in his arms.

Pitch sighs, and gathers her and her things into his arms, and then phasing through the shadows to the Fort.

(Line)

Darcy feels lighter than she has in a long time when she wakes up the next morning, and she can't remember why. She remembers a strange dream where she admitted what her father did, and she said so to Pitch no less!, but she's certain that she dozed off after they had a heated discussion about Pitch's past.

It hadn't taken much convincing from Pitch to talk Sandy into blurring Darcy memories.

Although she can't remember all that happened, she feels closer to Pitch than before when she wanders down for breakfast, and is surprised to find Sophie sitting in his lap.

**And that's a rap; longer chapter than I planned, especially since not that much happened...oh well, I guess.**

**Now onto the Harry Potter fic; I've got this idea, soon to be story, about a girl who grows up muggle in the US; she doesn't know her father, because, according to her mom (who's british), he left when she was 3 and her big brother was 4.**

**For 14 years, she's lived in ignorance, and only her brother as a father figure. **

**Little does she know, she's the second illegitimate child to the eldest of the House of Black, and now she's got to deal with a new heritage, an upcoming war, and meeting Sirius Black, her, slightly unhinged, father.**


	13. Chapter 13

**Alright, I've almost reached 130 reviews, and it makes my pride swell when I look at them; thank you everyone! I love it especially when new readers review the last chapter and tell me how much they love it, makes me wanna cry!**

**Now we introduce a new character to the scheme, and spice up the plot: what makes drama all the more wonderful? Family tension (especially when it's Pitch's family, right?)!**

**I want to thank everyone, again who reviews the chapters I put up; dedicated readers are the reason I write, and I have to say that I love each and every one of you! There's no better morale booster than a good, detailed review!**

**Recently I went to see the Croods with my family (yes folks, I often watch children's movies, hence this fic, but my sister is literally 9 years younger than me and I don't have a license, so it is what it is; don't judge me, and they can be reasonably cute), and I fell in love with it! It's such a great movie, I encourage everyone to go see it as soon as they can; but, my friends, as awesome as this movie is, there's only 24 fics posted in that category, so I encourage you to start pumping out some ideas! (I see Grug and Guy as a possible yaoi pairing, hell it's the only one that's possible with just the characters from the movie, I guess...)**

**Thank you everyone who messaged me about the cover art challenge and is currently working on it, love you all, you're my best friends!**

The image is so out of place that Darcy has to look at them again and make sure that this isn't some sort of bizarre dream; Pitch, the Nightmare King, is playing with a 3 year old. The sister of the one who brought him out of power last Easter. Something isn't right with this image.

"Am I missing something?" Darcy asks, smiling. Sophie looked at her in surprise and squirmed, trying to get to her.

"She woke up a tad bit confused, I happened to be the closest thing nearby to latch onto." Pitch explains, but Darcy cocks her head.

"Sophie can see you?" When put as simply as that, Pitch seemed just as surprised and looked down at the little girl now latching herself onto Darcy. He quite missed the little warm bundle in his lap and the babble that she spoke to him; he'd been heavily reminded of Sera…dear little Sera. It had seemed natural to let her sit in his lap and play, as if he was a trusted friend, and not a monster.

"Perhaps it's her age. A small child's belief is untamed and it's easier to believe in what they say; although their fears are usually vague, a toddler, or a child just grown out of it, has been able to see me, although that's just been a few times through the ages." Pitch admits, watching as Darcy crouches down and sweeps Sophie into the air, much to her delight, if her joyful shrieks were anything to go by.

He'd been right about making her admit what had happened; Pitch realized smugly. She seemed like another person compared to last night. Apparently, even if her consciousness didn't recall the confrontation, her subconscious did, and was beginning to heal completely, instead of just ignoring the base of the problem.

Idly, Pitch lets his eyes wander over Darcy, and he can't help but think that, although Darcy has done nothing with her appearance, unlike most human women, she's still stunning; her hair is brushed, but still untamed, and her cheeks flushed. Her eyes are still glassy from sleep, but her mask is gone, and he's never seen her look so truly peaceful or happy like he does now.

"Is Jamie awake yet?" Darcy asks, laughing lightly as Sophie pulls at her hair playfully.

"No; he'll be asleep for a while longer, if I was to guess; Sandy hit him hard with that bloody sand to ensure that he wouldn't create his own nightmares, and he's gone through quite the emotional upheaval," Darcy sobers quickly and nods; it's better for Jamie to sleep for a bit.

"Where is everyone?" Pitch smirks.

"The rabbit, unfortunately, suffered a little accident and had to return to his dirt pit for a little while; Frost is spreading winter, of course; Sanderson and Toothiana are doing their work and North is preparing for his bloody holiday." Darcy nods and turns to look at Sophie.

"You hungry, Soph?"

"Eggs?" The tiny blonde asks, and Darcy grins again.

"Eggs it is, then." Darcy agrees, before she rubs noses with her cousin, who blinks at the strange show of affection. Darcy turns to Pitch. "Any clue about where the kitchen might be?" He smiles and places a hand on her shoulder and one on Sophie's head, and then they are engulfed by shadows.

Darcy sees lights in a strange way as they travel, like looking up at the sky while you're underwater, the way everything is hazy and seems to move in a displaced way, although they're travelling so fast that she wonders if that could be why. She steps closer to Pitch and Sophie looks up at her new friend with interest; she likes how gentle he is with her, and the way he takes care of Darcy. And the ride is fun and interesting.

When the shadows recede from them, Darcy realizes that somehow, during the ride, she'd basically leaned almost completely into Pitch, and he'd put an arm gently around her waist; the few boyfriend's that she'd had who had done that, they held tightly, as if to say 'she's mine', but Pitch, he kept the grip loose, as if to ask 'are you comfortable with what I'm doing?'.

It made her feel safe.

North's kitchen is large and spacious; like everywhere else in his home, it's almost completely wood based, like an old fashioned cabin. The stove has 12 burners, and the actual oven looks massive (she idly wonders how many turkeys she could cook in there at once); the cupboards are massive, and Darcy is willing to bet that they're fully stocked; after all there are numerous yeti and elves, as well as North and various Guardians.

"How far from my room is the kitchen?" She asks, stepping neatly away and kneeling to set Sophie down.

"The other side of the fort; North designed it that way so he'd be discouraged from midnight snacking." Pitch rolls his eyes; North had shown him the kitchen when they'd returned from the Bennett's, and asked him to bring Darcy should she wake up before he was finished with the holiday preparations that he was dealing with this morning.

"Smart plan, it'll help me drop some excess fat," She grins and pinches at her waist, and Pitch frowns; she doesn't honestly believe that she needs to lose any weight, does she? Sadly, he knew that many men would have jumped at any opportunity to bed her…

"…hungry?" Pitch blinks and comes back to reality and realizes that Darcy's asked him a question.

"Pardon?"

"Are you hungry? I'm a pretty good cook." Darcy repeats, Sophie is now digging through the cabinets excitedly.

"Er…" Pitch didn't actually physically need to eat; he, like all spirits, were sustained by whatever drove them; because fear was always there, Pitch never went hungry, but he never actually got the chance to eat real food. "I'm not…"

"Alright, I'll make some for each of us and you can decide whether or not you're up to it, alright? In the meantime, you can help me cook." It wasn't a request.

"I am the Nightmare King-"

"Pardon me, your Highness, but I need some help." Darcy interrupts, and Sophie laughs at the dumbstruck look on Pitch's face.

"Darcy! Eggs! Found em!" She chirps, stumbling away from the gigantic icebox (it isn't a fridge, it's an old fashioned icebox but about 4 times the standard size), arms full of eggs. Only Sophie overbalanced a bit and wound up dropping them to the floor.

"Oops." She whispers, before looking up at Pitch.

And promptly bursting into tears

Whenever she made a mess at home, and Mom wasn't around, she remembered her father would hit her, sometimes really hard, but never hard enough to leave a mark, or where people could see. He didn't hit Jamie though…part of Sophie worried that maybe her new friend would be mad and hit her too, or maybe Darcy.

The fearsome Nightmare King can't help but stoop and pick her up, assuring her that it's  
only a mess and that it'll be cleaned up, rocking her gently and telling her that it was only an accident. Sophie quiets and begins to laugh and giggle as he starts to talk to her.

Darcy smiles to herself as well and begins to clean up the eggs; it's not such a big mess, hell she's made worse with harder ingredients to clean up!

(line)

The next hour pass by in peace and warmth, in Sophie's mind; good food cooks, and she plays on the floor with the elves who run in and out of the kitchen. Pitch watches from the corner, conversing with Darcy, and occasionally speaking to Sophie herself.

She liked this new friend, she liked how gentle he was, like she would break.

When she'd woken up in a strange room and bed, she'd been confused; Jamie was curled around her protectively, snoring softly, a puddle of drool on the pillow. The bed seemed gargantuan to her, and she detangled herself from her big brother and sat up; the room was big and smelled like peppermint and cinnamon, a smell familiar in some way, but that she couldn't quite place. She could just see out the window from the bed, and she saw an endless expanse of white landscape and grey sky, she'd frowned and managed to get to the floor, but not without bumping her knees.

Although Sophie had been to Santoff Claussen many times, she's never been to the wing of the fort that North had built into bedrooms and guest rooms, so she's unfamiliar with where she is.

Sophie had scowled and set out, wandering the hallways, trying to find someone to talk to, or better yet, something to eat.

"Lost?" A quiet voice whispered as Sophie had come out from one of the endless hallways and into what looked like a spare sitting room. Pitch had been sitting in one of the chairs, speaking with a shadow man, and Sophie had whimpered at it. He'd turned his strangely colored eyes on her and dismissed his servant, standing up to his full height, towering over her.

"Are you lost, Sophie?"

She had nodded and he smiled at her, and although her first instinct was to flinch at the sharpness of those teeth, she didn't. "Where Darcy?"

"Darcy is asleep. If you'd like to wait here with me, she'll probably wake up soon." Sophie nodded and cocked her head at the stranger. He seemed scary, but then so did North; if anyone had judged the giant Cossack by his appearance, most of the children he protected might have run in fear, but despite his gruff outer shell, North was still a good person, and inside he was like a marshmallow. With this man it was the same; he had a grizzled appearance, and his eyes could have killed someone with their intense gaze, but Sophie could feel the strange good inside of him…no, good wasn't it…Sophie couldn't name what it was, but she trusted the shade nearly immediately, and when he'd sat down, she'd immediately climbed into his lap.

It had taken several minutes but Pitch had soon been wrapped around her little finger, and replied to her broken sentences that were still half in baby talk.

Sophie likes her new friend. She likes him a lot.

(Line)

Ombric, Lord of Time, is in an absolute rage; his Magic lashes out at anything and everything living in his home, and as the rats and mice and bugs are slaughtered in the corners and shadows, they can only wonder, in their simple way, at the absolute evil and malice that radiates from the invisible energy.

She'd gotten away!

Now, Darcy is under the protection of the Guardians and, worse, Pitch, along with those snotty little brats of hers! He moans at how difficult it will now be to reach them, she was in the perfect position to be stolen not even a day ago, but then that fucking Pitch had decided to rear his ugly head again, having regained his powers and some of the dignity he'd lost.

He sighs and casts the runes again, and glares; they have changed very little although he's cast them many times in reference to Darcy, but this time he snarls.

Þurisaz: hardships

Raiðō: a journey and progress

And finally Ūruz: sexuality and vitality…

Damn it!

Ombric sweeps the flat stones off the table, cursing; Atlantian children have a way of both defying what is meant to be, and yet being protected by destiny itself. If Darcy is defying what is meant to be, and yet the fates have ensured that she will begin to heal…and that last rune…

Ombric curses again; Darcy's magic will come to head soon, and with the help of Pitch. There is nothing that he can do about that; he'd been banking on her instinct pushing her away from the Nightmare King, not embracing him...but then...

"What can be done about Pitch? He knows that Darcy's his mate, and so do the other Guardians by now. I can't go for Darcy directly, that would be suicide, but if I kill Pitch...that could be enough to provoke her magic...

And in the shadows and gloom of Ombric's madness, a new plan begins to form, one so much more horrible than just killing Darcy.

(Line)

The wind had heard it from Jack Frost first, and then it had passed it on; now it's passing from creature to creature, until it finally reaches the one person who knows what to make of it, and is willing to do something about it.

Seraphina Pitchiner, commonly known as Mother Nature, was beautiful in her strange way; like her father, her hair was dark as shadows, but she wore it past her hips in calm waves that rippled like liquid darkness when she moved. The elements robe her, and she smells like the earth she embodies. When she smiles, it's usually quiet, but occasionally it can reveal what her intentions are.

The yeti Phil is no match as she sweeps by and into the fortress of Santoff Claussen, bare feet hardly making a sound as she lands on them delicately, and strides off to look for North, or better yet, Pitch.

Of course, she stumbles into the kitchen.

She feels that sour pang of jealousy as Sophie swings off of Pitch's hand; that should have been her, and as soon as she sets eyes on Darcy, she can't help but audibly snarl.

Everyone turns to look at her, and Pitch looks at his little girl fondly; the last time that he'd seen her, he'd had no knowledge how she knew him, why she protected him, but now he can't take his eyes off her. It's like looking at a cross between his former wife and who he used to be.

"Seraphina," Darcy catches the breathy whisper and clutches the pan tighter; this is Pitch's daughter.

"Hello, Pitch." Seraphina says, standing a little straighter. Pitch's expression crumbles, and she blinks; she'd been expecting him to continue hating her as he had the last time, but could it be possible…

"You remember?" She asks, and he nods.

"I gained my memories back when I had to regain control over the fearlings and the Nightmares." Her eyes flash dangerously and Sophie whimpers.

"And you never thought to come and tell me, Papa? I've waited centuries for you to come back to me! Centuries! Do you know how that feels?" Sophie actually takes refuge behind him as Seraphina's eyes flash; Darcy notices uncomfortably that Pitch gets the same look when he's trying to keep it together (and failing).

"Butterfly-"

"Don't you dare call me that! You've no right to expect anything of me, and no right to treat me familiar in any way! Imagine my surprise when I hear from the North Wind about the trouble with Father Time, and how you've been handing around with some lowly human!" Darcy blinks and sets her hands on her hips.

"That human happens to be standing right here." She interrupts, and unwittingly put herself into Seraphina's line of fire.

"And you! What business do you have bringing trouble on like you have? Ever since you appeared things haven't been going the way they should; you've thrown off the natural balance of the world, and there will be consequences!" It is only then that Seraphina tastes the strange magic in the air.

Darcy can feel it circle her protectively, pacing like a loyal dog; it bristled, and Darcy can nearly imagine an Irish wolfhound, hackles raised, teeth bared in defiance. She likes that image. It makes her smile a bit; the magic reaches out along the walls, leaving inch deep gashes in the wood casually, cracking the window panes, and finally encircling Seraphina. The magic surrounds the two women; and pushes them toward one another. Jars explode, bags erupt into clouds of flour and sugar. Glass flies everywhere and Pitch wraps Sophie in shadows to protect her, all the while not taking his eyes of his daughter or off his Mate.

Darcy can feel the change coming on, and she allows the warmth to rush over her, losing herself to the safe feeling of the magic, rising to protect her. It's like sinking into a warm bath as her vision goes black.

Pitch can see the change before his daughter; Darcy's eyes narrow and turn more silver than green, and her smile turns dangerously thin. There is no change in height, but she seems to be taller, her eyes flashing with a depth of power that is wilder than even Jack, and far more dangerous than Seraphina could have ever imagined.

**_"Don't speak to us as if you know us, Seraphina Pitchiner."_** Darcy says, raising her chin in defiance; Seraphina's eyes widen.

Now she realizes exactly what she's dealing with.

"You're Atlantian."

**_"Of course, Seraphina. Who else would have the sand to challenge you and your powers? Tell me, who was the last to try? Your father?"_** Darcy indicates to Pitch. Mother Nature nods, her face oddly stoic. **_"And he didn't succeed."_**

"How would you know?" Pitch interrupts; Darcy turns to look at him next, her eyes reflecting something akin to fondness.

**_"Oh, Pitch, or should I say Kozmotis?, you missed something in your research about sweet little Darcy's lineage, and I'm sure that Ombric forgot to mention it..."_** She laughs without humor and smiles gently at Sophie. **_"Sophie, darling, go with the elves to find Santa and tell him that Seraphina has come to visit."_** One of the cowering elves scampers out of the room, quickly grabbing Sophie by the sleeve and bringing her with him.

"You clearly aren't the human who's body you inhabit, so who are you?" Seraphina demands, she doesn't like knowing that her power is outclassed, but this is clearly the case, and intimidation was the only card left; like her father, she always needs an ace up her sleeve.

**_"The question is redundant; I am not a who, exactly. The Atlantians revered me as the source of their magic, the one who protected them through their magic. I was there when the Romans fell and when their great city was nothing but a mud village of savages. I was there when the Vikings sailed and I was present to every milestone that this planet has ever seen. I brought the humans with the strongest magic to a tiny island and showed them how to channel it. I linked them with the earth. I am them, I am Darcy. I am the source of their power, the reason the bloodline's magic has yet to die out. Darcy is, frankly, the last chance that there is to save the magic that courses through her veins, weak as it may be."_**

"This is weak?" Pitch asks before he can check his mouth.

Regardless, the thing that is not Darcy barks out a laugh and looks at him amusedly. **_"Oh, this is why I'm so glad the Fates owed me a favor; you are so amusing, Pitchiner, I knew that you'd be perfect for Darcy! But yes, compared to that of her ancestors, her powers are rather weak; they have faded and strengthened with every generation, until all that is left is a husk of what could have been."_** She looks wistful and presses a hand to her, to Darcy's chest, just below her collarbone. **_"It's written in your books that Atlantian Magic is Earth Magic, and in a way, it is tied to little Seraphina's realm, and the magic is meant to be a separate being, on a different plane; if it was in complete control of the user, the magic would overwhelm them. _**

**_"However, because there's so little magic left, there is almost nothing left of her magic to separate itself from her. Have you noticed how her emotions make the magic flux, how dangerous it's becoming? Look around you at what she's done to the kitchen because she was afraid."_**

"Why didn't something catastrophic happen the other night then? When those men attacked?" Seraphina looks at her father confusedly, unsure what he's talking about.

**_"Isn't it obvious? Pitch, she trusted you to arrive. She knew that once Jamie got the word to Santoff Claussen, you would come running."_**

"Darcy knows nothing about what we are to each other!" Pitch snarls, making it laugh again, this time harshly, mockingly and Pitch clamps his jaws shut before something more can slip out.

**_"Not consciously, you dolt. Part of her knows that you are her mate, and she is yours. You are two halves of a single coin, and she recognizes it in the most primal, basic part of her sub-consciousness. Why else would she tell you all that's happened to her? Why would she trust you, instinctively more than any of the Guardians?"_**

"That's your guess as well as mine-"

**_"Denial isn't healthy, Boogeyman. Stay in the shadows all you want and convince yourself that you belong there, go ahead, but don't deny that Darcy belongs there with you! You'll hurt her as well as yourself, and believe me when I say that she can't take much more of that." _**Now Darcy looks frustrated, biting her lower lip viciously. She looks up at Pitch without a glimmer of pity, "**_if you harm her, in any way, it will destroy her, Pitchiner. Darcy Malone is walking a very fine line between sanity and total mental collapse and losing what she's only just begun to care for will break her. Quite possibly forever."_**

"I won't." She studies him, and Pitch feels as if she's studying something deep inside of him before nodding, as if there was any other option.

**_"I believe that. Since your return you've…started to return to normal…"_** Darcy glances at Seraphina skeptically, **_"you know nothing of the hardships that Darcy has had to endure. Nor what part you play in all of this. Rest assured, you are a player in this saga, and your actions are important. Leave Darcy be, regardless of your own feelings about her, are we understood?" _**

"Crystal." It's clear that Seraphina has far more to say on the subject, but a single harsh glance from her father has her falling silent. She is still a Daddy's Girl, deep, deep down.  
**_"Good. Now, Darcy has no idea what's happened, and I expect you to tell her that she blacked out for a moment in the middle of your two's argument. I expect we'll soon speak again…"_** And with that, those strange eyes roll in the back of Darcy's head, her legs falter and she falls back, into warm shadows that rush to catch her.

Seraphina can feel the anger pulse in her temples, and she glares at her father.

"So, you have a Mate?" She asks, sounding deceivingly complacent.

"Seraphina, please, she doesn't know. Don't tell her-"

"Why have you not?"  
"Her life is unstable, she couldn't take knowing something so important just yet." Pitch reasons, but he can't meet his daughter's glare.

"So, you just, you just fall in love with a random mortal because she can see you? Is that how this works with you?"

"Enough!"

"No, not enough! I've only heard bits and pieces from the North Wind, from Jack Frost, and I want to know what the bloody hell is going on, what made Ombric lose what's left of his mind and why is there still an Atlantian left-"

"Seraphina Helenka Pitchiner that is quite enough!" And she fell silent on instinct, just as Darcy's eyes flutter open.

"What happened?" She asks, and it's too her father's surprise that Seraphina replies, in a perfectly civil tone that's strangely at odds with the look on her face,

"You had a faint in the middle of our argument."

"Oh," Darcy frowns, and looks at her hands, biting her lower lip. "Sorry, that's new," and strange; she's never been a fainter, in fact that can be a big problem for her; a doctor told her some time ago that it's common for women to suffer from different forms of insomnia, or even the opposite; the way that a woman's mind works is so that they rehash the day and more before they go to sleep, whereas men recap at different points through the day. On top of that, the trauma that she'd suffered (and he didn't know all of it) would probably leave her sleeping habits changed, and not for the better.

That is the root of her partial insomnia; her inability to turn off her brain. Granted, when she did sleep, it was for relatively long periods of time (her record is nearly two days) and riddled with nightmares (honestly, why didn't she kick Pitch's ass when he admitted the cause?). But full on blackouts are not something that she's suffered from before, and it makes her just a bit worried.

The great booming steps coming down the hall are the only warnings that the group has before North arrives, looking about as angry as Darcy's ever seen.

"Seraphina, you come with me. Pitch as well. We talk! Now!" He turns his weary blue eyes on Darcy and she flinches away from them on instinct.

It does nothing but make North pity her; Pitch informed Sandy and North of her troubles with her father, what he'd done. North had known that she had been forced to kill him in a desperate attempt to save her life, but he'd never known the full story.

_"Sanderson, please, I understand that you owe me nothing but please help her. She's admitted the abuse, all of it, but I can't help soothe the memories. She's in pain, please." Pitch begged his smaller golden counterpart._

Sandy had given Pitch a small pouch of dream sand; he'd told the shade to sprinkle a bit of it over her head, and to keep his powers in check. Sandy trusted the Nightmare King where Darcy was concerned, far more than Bunny and even more than North. Jack is the only one on board that particular band wagon come to think of it.

"I'm, I'm sorry, North...I did this..." She whispers, wrapping her arms around herself; North looks at the gashes gouged into the walls and the mess.

"Is alright Darcy, you don't have your powers under control yet, da? We chalk it up to accident and have yeti fix it." He smiles, and Darcy smiles hesitantly back; North can see some of what Pitch described in that smile; a woman with the mind of an adult but the emotions of a child. "Darcy, Jamie...Jamie is awake. I thought you would prefer to go see him before anyone attempted to speak with him, is that correct?"

Darcy nods, "I think that's probably best. Where is Sophie?"

"Sophie is being entertained by elves, to give you time. Dingle!" An elf waved from the doorway. "Take Darcy to Jamie's room and then have Phil clean this up, da? For now, Pitchiners are coming with me!"

Glumly, Seraphina and her father had to follow the jolly fat man.

Darcy looks at the remains of the kitchen and what would have been a meal.

So much for that attempt, yeah?

(Line)

By the time that Darcy summons the courage to enter Jamie's room, he's dressed in the clothes she packed and looking even worse than last night. He sits on the bed; for lack of things to do, he put the bed back together, and he just looks so small and helpless there that Darcy has to blink back tears.

"Hey, Jay." Darcy says, Jamie just looks at her; the dead look in his eyes makes her reach out and card her fingers through his brown hair.

"Morning, Darcy." Said cousin kneels on the floor so that she's looking up into her cousin's face.

"I'm sorry that you had to see that Jamie, I'm so sorry, I wish I could have prevented that." And she did wish that more than anything else; it's always sad when a child is thrust into reality before their time.

"I know, Darcy."

"Please, talk to me Jamie."

"I just want to be left alone, please."

"Jamie-"

"JUST GO AWAY DARCY!" Darcy recoils from the strangled shout and bites at her lip.

Without saying anything else, she gets up again and leaves the room, shutting the door softly behind her.

Jamie pulls his knees up to his chest and feels tears slip down his face. He just wants to go back to before; he almost wishes that Darcy had never come back, because ever since she appeared his life has been upside down and he just wants his family back.

He wants his family.

_It's all her fault,_ a voice whispers into his ear, into his brain. **It is her fault.**He thinks bitterly scowling; Darcy ruined everything. His family had been rocky, but they'd had a peace that they could exist in, and it would never be back again.

Young as he is, even Jamie understands that his dad is going to be locked away for a very long time, and his mother will hate him, if she lives. He wonders what'll happen to him and Soph...they have an aunt in Canada, but he doesn't want to move away from Burgess.

He's young and he's afraid and vulnerable; and that is what makes him an easy target.

(Line)

Locked away in police custody, Neil Bennett is shivering in the corner; he doesn't remember what happened last night, but the cops have told him that he and several men he picked up at the bar gang raped and nearly killed Amy. He doesn't think that it's possible, and, like the coward that he is, he cries and screams his innocence.

"It doesn't matter what you say, Mr. Bennett, the police have evidence to what you've done." A perfectly reasonable voice interrupts, and he looks up and sees a strange, elderly man watching him from inside the cell; he's wearing a velvet suit the color of plum and it's faintly sickening.

"Are you the lawyer that the gave me?" He asks hopefully, the man chuckles and shakes his head. Vaguely, Neil thinks that he reminds him of that old codger from the Harry Potter movies; Dumbledore or something...

"No, Mr. Bennett. You see, I'm not a lawyer, and besides, everyone knows that you did it. I'm here to...tie up loose ends you could say." And then everything goes black as the old man slams his cane onto the ground.

The police officer who arrives moments later after he hears the screaming is promptly sick all over the floor; the inside of the cell looks like a bomb went off in Mr. Bennett's body; there is blood and gore everywhere, staining everything. There's no clear cause of the attack, and everyone is confused, trying to figure out what happened.

No one notices the old man humming to himself leave the building.

(Line)

Jamie finally leaves his room an hour later, looking so dejected that dark clouds are nearly visible over his head; he hears voices in the Globe Room as he passes and looks in, only to shriek so loud everyone in there turns to look at him.

"WHY IS PITCH HERE!"


	14. Chapter 14

**Hey everyone! Okay, mucho gracias to Kiara Lee Phoenix, who is doing me a huge personal favor and making me a cover image for this story. I have a lot of respect for that, and I'm beyond grateful. I had to give a shout out to her, HI!**

**Kay, we're starting to wind up here, and I'm trying to introduce some new allies to the Guardians, and we're going to have some fun with this part, because it's a party!**

**I love each and every one of you that's been reviewing, it makes me feel fuzzy inside! Okay, I've got great news; they're officially making How to Train Your Dragon 2! So excited! It's being released in May of 2014, and there's also a rumor circulating about a second Rise of the Guardians movie (but that's just a rumor). I was shocked to hear that RotG is widely considered a flop by the filmmaking community; the best that I can figure is that it was aimed at the wrong audience, because, I mean, look around at the fanfiction community! It's nearly beaten Batman Begins and I regard that as an accomplishment. I tried watching the movie again with fresh eyes and I guess that lots of kids were scared of Pitch (awesome, but maybe not so good for the box office) and the scene of Sandy becoming a Nightmare (it **_**was**_** pretty graphic). I guess where I'm going with this is that it's probably one of the few movies I've ever prayed for a sequel, and I hope the rest of you are in that category.**

**Hopefully this story will actually pick up in quality because I FINALLY managed to get ahold of the Guardians of Childhood books by William Joyce (up to now I've been depending on the movie and the wiki page), so I'm hoping it'll show in my writing.**

Jamie stares at Pitch in revulsion mixed with fear and anger; Pitch watches the boy with calculating eyes. The taint of Ombric's is nearly tangible, and he doesn't know what it means; is the boy being controlled? Influenced? Or could it simply be a leftover stain from the horrors of the other night? Truthfully, he doesn't know, and he certainly doesn't know what to do about it.

North begins speaking very quickly, trying to explain, but more or less dancing around the subject.

"Ah, Jamie, Pitch is not threat; Pitch is working with us-"

"So, now you're all friends?" Jamie demands, glowering at North, who flinches. "This is the monster that tried to kill all of us not even a year ago!"

Pitch remembers what Darcy said the night before, with such vehemence:

_You aren't a monster_

From the way Jamie is looking at him, he isn't so sure.

"Jamie, Pitch was under control of Ombric," at this Pitch rolls his eyes.

"For God's sake, North, the old meddler is responsible for a lot, but not everything was caused by him." Pitch snaps, and North winces before looking at him in curiosity.

"Pitch, you said that Ombric admitted to manipulating your powers-"

"I'd been planning to take the Guardians down for centuries North, the plan was mine; all Ombric did was twist the finer details: how fast you fell, how Frost's powers didn't reach maturity until then, the fear spreading, all that was him. I did the grunt work."

Privately, North doesn't see how this is helping with Jamie, but he doesn't comment as the Boogeyman and his former adversary stare each other down.

"It doesn't matter whether you like me or not Jamie, I have a mutual interest in the Guardian's current goal, so we happen to be working together at present. It's in my best interests not to harm you, Darcy or your sister, so that is something that you needn't worry about." Jamie still doesn't look away from the golden-silver eyes.

"What goal would that happen to be?"

"Jamie, is important that it stays secret. For your own protection we cannot tell you." North explains, but realizes that he'll get nowhere at the angry look that is shot his way with normally sweet brown eyes.

"I don't need protecting." Jamie spits out venomously, balling his fists. He's angry, so angry. His head is spinning, the back of his eyelids painted with the images of last night, of the blood and of the sound of faces being broken. How can they claim he needs protecting when no one was there to save him then, or his mother?

It hurts, thinking these thoughts; but Jamie feels like he's seeing the Guardians in a completely new light. One not so naïve. North is just a babbling old man, Bunny an overgrown rodent, Tooth so obsessed with her teeth that she can't see the reality in front of her, Sandy a helpless spectator unable to speak or interfere and Jack worthless, unable to take anything seriously.

And Darcy…no, Jamie shakes his head. Dark thoughts about his cousin's cowardice churn in his subconscious, but he doesn't want to think about them, because a part of him acknowledges that she did her best to protect them. However, he's still angry.

"Jamie, what is wrong?" North asks reaching out a hand to touch Jamie's shoulder, only to touch nothing as Jamie shrinks away from the kind touch.

"It isn't your business." Jamie spits, before turning on his heel and walking out of the globe room.

North and Pitch watch him leave, and shut and lock the door behind him as he goes. Pitch gives North a meaningful glance that makes the Guardian of Wonder stop dead.

"Ombric is speaking to Jamie, North." Pitch says quietly, soothing the roiling shadows.

"No, fort is protected-"

"You're a talented magician, North, but I don't think that your wards are enough to keep Ombric away from what he wants." Pitch warns, searching out the magic that tainted Jamie; it isn't powerful, or blanketing, but it encroaches on the edges of Jamie's aura, but it's enough to make one worry.

North sighs heavily and looks out the window at the snowy landscape; part of him, the part that will always be the terror of the Cossacks, wonders (and wishes) at what might have happened had MiM not interfered with his dreams that night so long ago, or if Kozmotis Pitchiner had been able to resist the lure of the fearlings. He could have died in a whirlwind of perceived glory and violence instead of dealing with continual universal problems. But then, his older, wiser self, would argue; who would do it in his stead? North is happy with his job, and he knows that he wouldn't stop protecting children at gun, or sword, point. Still, it's sometimes nice to imagine…

"What do you propose that we do, then, Pitch?" North asks; the master of Fearlings paces the globe, his eyes distant and inward looking.

"We watch it." Pitch finally tells North after some time.

"But-"

"North, we can't fight against Ombric's hold on Jamie without damaging him. It's not enough to harm him, just to influence, an occasional whisper in the boy's head. We'll keep an eye on it, but not mention to the rest of them. Until we know what Ombric's exact plans are to retrieve Darcy and put himself in power, the only things that we can do is be ready for the upcoming battle and start gathering allies."

"Allies?" North looks confused. Pitch sighs and runs his fingers over the globe.

"We can't fight him with just the guardians. I know that you've made friends over the centuries; gather them. The closest ones that will not be swayed by Ombric; Seraphina will listen to reason when she's calmed down." North chuckles and Pitch turns to him, raising an eyebrow. "Is something amusing?"

"Just that she's quite similar to her father in that regard." Pitch can feel the blood rise to his cheeks in response; but inwardly he glows with pride, and a touch of shame. He wasn't able to see her grow into the lovely woman that she is now, and it pains him. But hearing someone compare her to the man he used to be…well, it's nice. Comforting, almost.

"So you think, old man." They lapse into silence, and it isn't entirely comfortable.

"What do we do about Darcy?" North finally asks his new ally. He thinks of the destruction of the kitchen and the look in her eyes when he entered; the kitchen can be rebuilt, but he worries about the girl's mental state.

"We let her taste her powers. That book should be enough of a guide, and you have a rudimentary knowledge of Atlantian Magic from Ombric; the best we can do is allow her to find her way through everything."

North doesn't like this, doesn't like feeling helpless at all, but there's nothing that he can do for Darcy other than point her in the right direction. There is very little that they can for Darcy.

The silence is heavier than ever, but they fall into it again, neither knowing what to say, so instead they turn to their private thoughts; North thinks of the annual Christmas party (alright, more of an extravaganza) that's happening in just under 2 weeks.

Pitch thinks of a time long ago, of the Golden Age; in the winter season he'd often take Seraphina out into the snow and help her build creatures in the snow. They'd used pretty stones and sticks to help decorate, as well as spare clothes that were no longer suitable to be worn.

Where else would Earthling children have gotten the idea for snowmen from?

(Line)

Over the next several days Darcy seems to sink into the task of deciphering her magic using the golden book that Tsar Lunar had presented to her in the Not-Dream. She works tirelessly, using an empty notebook to take notes and make diagrams. The ones in the book are so delicate that she's afraid to touch the pages, so she copies them over and then uses them to practice her Magic.

Seraphina stays around the Fort as well, often watching as Darcy practices. She even drops hints about how to make progress in the harnessing of this power occasionally. Mostly she sits and watches.

Darcy soon is able to tune out the daughter of her (friend?confidant?), and loses herself so deeply in this new discovery of herself, of her heritage. On her first day of losing herself in it and submerging herself in this new work, she's astonished when Tooth informs her after what feels like no time at all that it's nearly 7 o'clock and isn't she hungry yet?

Darcy looks back through her notebook and discovers that she's tackled nearly169 pages of the Book (as it's coming to be known in her mind), and is 5 pages away from having completely filled the notebook.

It takes no saying that her hand is very sore that night.

After that particular lesson, she decides to tackle it in pieces.

Sophie blooms and runs amok among the elves and the yeti; and even among the little eggs when Bunny gets North's and Darcy's permission to bring her over for several afternoons. If she'd seen anything from the night of horror, it's soon forgotten, and the tiny girl seems to glow under the attention of the Guardians who visit daily.

Jamie's brooding spells are only dissipated by Jack; it's only when the Frost Child comes to visit and uses his strange powers of persuasion to induce him into fits of giggles and laughter. But anyone can see that they are merely shallow in comparison to what they once were. There is no depth to Jamie's light anymore.

After that first day, Darcy tries to make an effort to bring Jamie, Her Jamie, out of his shell, but after several more scathing remarks, she backs off and lets Jack do his best for him. Because, as much as it pains her, there's nothing that Darcy can do for him.

When Bunny comes looking for her and finds her working, he sighs; it makes him feel old, watching her work Magic that once was treasured and seemed timeless, all alone.

"Yer doin' it wrong, Darcy," he interrupts gently. Darcy looks up at Bunny and raises an eyebrow.

"Hm?"

"You've got the magic down, but you don't know how to make it work best." Her curiosity peaked, Darcy waits with baited breath as Bunny leans close and says in a low tone; "Believe."

As anticlimactic as it is, Darcy is stunned. She expected some wild secret; hello, crazy as her life has been as of late, she'd expected something grand instead of just believing.

"That's it?" Bunny grins.

"Magic is nothing without belief; sure, you're progressing, but not nearly as fast as you could, if you'd only believe that it's possible. Admit it, part of you thinks that all of the magic in this book, the legacy of your heritage, isn't true. That you aren't enough. Am I on the mark?" Darcy frowns, but doesn't contradict him. Sometimes she hates how easily people can see through her. "Belief is unbelievably powerful, Darcy; look at the Guardians! Without the belief of a single child, we'd no longer exist. Magic is the same way. So long as you believe, it'll be possible." Bunny tells her, smiling; Darcy smiles back uncertainly.

"Bunny, how do you know all this?" He chuckles a bit.

"Ah, that." Bunny settles in, pulling up a seat beside her and Darcy adjusts to listen with the rapt attention of a child about to hear a story. Bunny can almost picture what she would have looked like as a small child; all eyes and wild hair and rakish grin, before her innocence was torn from her.

"See, I'm a Pooka; we're a race of…well, things like me, humanoid rabbits. We're older than the earth. I'm older than the earth, actually." His whiskers twitch at her giggle. "What, you expectin somethin' different?" He doesn't look it, but Bunny is very testy about his age.

"No, Bunny. I'm just laughing because I should have guessed; I mean, you knew the story of how Pitch came to be so well…I was being stupid, please continue." Bunny nods huffily.

"My kind, we're not like humans; we're closer to the realm of the unknown; we have our own Gods and ways, and in the Golden age, we held a lot of respect, because we trapped the first light ever. It's part of the reason that the Golden Age became; with light created, the Fearling stood no chance. Not back then. After Pitch…became Pitch, he went on a rampage. He destroyed my kind, and I was entrusted to guard the light, the first light.

"I thought in the same way of the Lunars, and fled to Earth. At that point I was still young, and the Earth was far younger. I burrowed beneath the Earth and hid the light from Pitch, and made my Warren. I spent centuries making tunnels to get me anywhere I needed to in the world." Bunny smiles in memory, "I didn't have anyone back then, see, I didn't like humans. I liked children, but not humans. They had such…such darkness, it reminded me of Pitch, I suppose. I did what I thought was my best; I created Spring, recess, chocolate-"

"Chocolate?"

"Chocolate." He confirms, but then shudders. "Chocolate ain't good for Pooka's, so I don't eat it if I can help it. After some time, I began watching humans again, and I was drawn to Atlantis. It was a world of technology, almost like the golden age. It was magical and…it was a paradise. I spent a lot of time there, watching the Mages. I learned the basic of their magic."

"Believe?" Darcy asks, and Bunny nods. She leans back gnawing on the inside of her cheek.

"Yes. I taught that to Ombric when he was a boy." Darcy shuvers; it fels like someone just sucked the warmth from her with the mention of his name.

"Was he always so insane?" Darcy finds herself asking. Bunny sighs. Part of him feels guilty for saving him so many centuries ago. He feels guilty for giving him the secret to his magic. He wonders if he should have given it to Darcy.

"Maybe. Not when he was a kid, I don't like to think."

"The crazy probably came later."

"Yeah."

They both drop the subject.

Darcy and Pitch grow closer as well; her recent traumatic experience having brought up more memories and old terrors that she would rather forget.

Remarkably, it's Pitch who's usually the one that she goes to. He's often in one of the smaller studies, reading, and it takes almost no effort for Darcy to find him, despite the vastness of the fort.

They sit in silence, drinking tea or coffee, sometimes Darcy works up the courage to speak about the images in her memory and Pitch listens with little input until the story is at it's end, before offering opinion and comfort, in his own way.

(Line)

North Christmas parties are legendary among the spirits and immortals. Jack has never been to one (North had tried to track him down before, but the boy not having a real home and having a tendency to wander made for the fact he never got the invites, much to his disappointment every year), and neither has Pitch.

Tooth intrudes on Darcy 3 days before the party, and drags her away from the book into the waiting assistance of the mini fairies and several of the female elves and yeti.

"Tooth, what no! I don't really think that I'm going to a party-"

"Of course you are, Darcy! North would be so disappointed if you didn't attend, now let me see…with your hair, you've got a greater range of color possibilities…" Tooth notes, flitting around her. "You couldn't pull off white, you're too pale, even with that olive tone…" Darcy tries not to feel embarrassed when Tooth starts to pick at her clothes.

"Why are you so intent on me going to a party? Or trying to look very nice?" Darcy jokes, screeching when several of the mini fairies just flit through her hair.

Tooth smirks knowingly.

"Well, I just thought that you'd want to impress a certain someone," the Tooth Fairy says in a completely innocent voice. But upon seeing the puzzled look that Darcy gives her, Tooth can't help but feel like they might have been wrong about how Darcy feels about the Boogeyman.

No, she thinks as the yeti show off several dresses with short skirts to show off Darcy's legs, and low, sweeping collars that show off her bust to an advantage. There's no mistaking the way that Darcy feels about Pitch; she doesn't know it yet, but everyone else can see the love in her eyes and the trust she feels with him. The moment that Pitch enters a room, she relaxes. When he's talking to her, Darcy smiles.

The party is the best opportunity that the Guardians will have to make each other aware of their attractions.

The yeti and the mini fairies and Tooth are an unstoppable team; a creative force altogether and they want to make sure that Darcy looks her best.

Any girl can look good. But it takes a special gift to find the perfect thing that brings out your best features.

It doesn't take much work, really, to get an idea for what Darcy should wear, and in the end, the outfit they find is enough to make Darcy stop complaining and actually gape at her own reflection.

"I'll just…yeah, this is amazing…" Darcy gasps in shock; Tooth nods determinedly.

"Perfect."

(Line)

It's the night before Christmas and all through the Fort…

Jack is going crazy with North's permission to use his powers and make the place look amazing; he's a whirlwind of snow and cold, forced into a pair of black slacks and royal blue button up shirt (the shoes were kicked off the moment Phil's back was turned), and his staff obviously at his side.

The yeti and elves worked for hours to bring in over a dozen humongous Christmas trees, decorated with ornaments and fairy lights that gleam with real open flame; all have been personally created by North and won't burn the trees, and toys whirr and fly around in the air from room to room, all decorated in the signature colors of the season.

North is getting ready to leave, making adjustments to the List, and ensuring that he has his supply of snow globes to get from Country to Country.

"Can I come?" Jack asks eagerly, flying up to perch on the arm of the sleigh. Once more, he's on the Naughty List, even with North nagging him, erm, politely reminding him on an hourly basis, to be good.

However, several impromptu snowstorms in various countries of the southern region had North crossing his name off the list.

"Jack," he sighs, but the outright pleading in the boy's storm blue eyes has North scooting over in the driver's seat, gruffly saying that he's still on Naughty List.

"Can I drive the sleigh?"

"Maybe over Moscow." North relents, and then they're off.

(Line)

Sophie is safely tucked away into bed, and Darcy smoothes her blonde hair from her forehead.

She shuts the book (A Little Princess), and places Sophie's gift from her onto the nightstand.

Darcy made gifts for the Guardians, for her cousins, and for Pitch, using magic and a little help from various sources (she had a gift for Phil too, because the poor guy never seemed to be appreciated for all of his help).

She looks out of the window at the looming moon and bows her head in respect.

"Please," she says quietly. "Please keep Jamie and Sophie safe." She begs, almost in answer, it gleams a bit brighter. He'll do his best.

It makes her smile sadly, but she tucks in Sophie and then leaves the room, wondering idly if Jamie will consider coming down to the party.

He's furious with her, because she refused to let him see his mother while she was in the ICU; she doesn't know what prompted him to ask, but he'd demanded it earlier in the day. Darcy had been unable to make him understand that she was unrecognizable and under morphine's spell to keep the pain away from her.

The police contacted her earlier, to finally admit why they hadn't called her in; Neil was dead.

She hasn't brought it to the kid's attention yet; she doesn't know how to address the subject.

Tooth is waiting for her in the hallway, the dress over a feathered arm, looking ready to battle to get Darcy into the dress.

"Easy, hon, I'm not going to fight you over a dress." Tooth's expression immediately lightens and she nods.

"Good, now let's get you ready; everyone's starting to arrive and I want you ready by the time that North gets back." She leads Darcy to her room, chattering and Darcy realizes, amusedly, that Tooth has a crush on the toymaker.

"What time does he get back?"

"11." She answers immediately, and when Darcy giggles she fluffs her feathers in annoyance.

And then they buckle down to begin.

(Line)

Pitch ignores the blatant stares and whispers, staying out of the social awkwardness as much as possible by staying in the shadows where he belongs; opting to people watch instead; there are April Showers and May Flowers, and there goes Samhain (he tips a ragged hat to Pitch in greeting, who nods in recognition and respect; the two are on friendly terms), the Leprechaun is already at the bar, and is chatting up Cupid, who blinks dewy eyes down at the small ginger. He sees several other spirits as well; Lady Spring and Miss Summer (Fall and Winter aren't there; one asleep and the other at work). Mother Nature detests formal gatherings and left the moment that the Groundhog, early like always, arrived.

"Hey, Pitch." A clotted voice rasps, and Pitch looks to his right to see one of his few honest to goodness friends; Rawhead Jack.

"Raw!" He greets with honest joy; the mutilated face grins grotesquely, before they hug each other. "I wasn't aware that North invited you?"

"He doesn't; I'm gate crashing this year because I heard a certain Nightmare King would be attending; Enyo and Eris are here, too, but they've decided to mingle."

Rawhead is a spirit of English origin; in olden days, he was a lesser form of Pitch; he'd hide in the cupboards under stairs and was supposed to have preyed on naughty children who didn't go to bed on time. Most of the spirits don't like Raw because of the gaping wounds that make up his face and head, all raw, torn open burns and claw marks that ooze pus and blood. Because of this, he's rather shy, and when he has to go somewhere he'll normally wear a mask of some sort.

"It's good to see you, old friend." Pitch greets, smiling honestly.

"Where have you been? A little birdy told me that you tried to take out the Guardians. That true?" Raw asks slyly, smirking; it's a horrible sight.

"Unfortunately I suffered a grave lapse of judgment." Pitch admits, and Raw rolls his eyes.

"From what I heard you got your ass kicked from Burgess back to your lair. What were you thinking? Why didn't you ask the rest of us for help?" By 'us' he was referring the rest of their few friends.

"I didn't want to be a bother."

"Sounds to me like you didn't think you could win."

"Fine…" Pitch consented, before they both heard awed silence.

"…a mortal?"

"Why is she here?"

Pitch smirked; they could only be talking about one person. As he turned to look at the entranceway, the smile died from his lips.

Darcy is dressed in a gown the color of the night sky, with the most subtle hints of royal blue to the color; a black gauzy sash is wrapped around her waist, tied into a bow at her back, with its ends streaming almost to the floor; the gown is sleeveless, instead being held up by a collar of fabric that wraps around her neck, somewhat like a halter top but far more classy like, that exposes broad, slim shoulders. The gown is so light looking it seems to float around her; her skin looks nearly lily white, but she's so uncomfortable under the attention that a deep blush has formed on her cheeks and neck. The top half of her hair is up, tucked into a bun at the top of her head, where a pure silver lily is braided in. The rest of her hair is curled into perfect ringlets and hangs down her back (save for a few stray locks that frame her face perfectly). Pitch honestly can't tell if Tooth has somehow managed to wrangle Darcy into makeup or not from this distance, but it seems to him that her eyes are darker than usual, more dramatic.

Tooth floats at her side protectively as the other spirits ogle the human like an interesting species of bug.

Raw whistles lowly as Darcy approaches.

"Hi, Pitch," she says quietly, staring intently down at the floor.

The air of amazement following Darcy turns to disgust as soon as she says it; but she doesn't care. She doesn't want to offend North but she doesn't want to be here at all. Tooth whispers "I'll see you later tonight, I need to speak with several of the guests," and flies off, leaving Darcy to observe Pitch in amazement.

Pitch's hair is slicked back like it always is, but instead of his usual black robe, Sandy had managed to locate a golden tunic inset with symbols from the Golden Age. A black sash serves as a belt, and black leggings of the same material as his robe, and black boots. All in all, he looks, more or less, like he did before the Fearlings swarmed him.

Darcy blushes as their eyes meet; all eyes in the room are on Pitch and Darcy at that moment, even though everyone is disgusted with the casual way that she addresses him.

"Tooth managed to get you into formal clothes?" He questions politely, and Darcy nods, resisting the urge to pick at the skirt.

"She said that everyone was wearing their best…but it varies from spirit to spirit…" She informs quietly and Pitch smiles at her, at the same moment she dares to look into his eyes.

"You look lovely, Darcy."

"T-thanks."

There's a general murmur of disgust and with attentions away from them, Pitch and Darcy talk quietly.

Darcy's eyes look over Rawhead as well, and he's surprised to see no look of fear, disgust or even the slightest shudder from the beautiful young woman.

"Hello, I'm Darcy." She held out a hand to shake his, and Rawhead grinned.

"Pleasure to meet you, Darcy, I'm Rawhead Jack, but everyone just calls me Raw. So you're mortal?" Darcy nods, smiling sweetly as he flashes bright teeth at her, remarkably they're all intact.

"Yes, as far as I know. Why, do I look like a Pooka?" Rawhead burst into raucous laughter, and even Pitch can't help but grin.

"Mortals never come to North's shindigs." Raw explains after he's calmed some.

Darcy shrugs and nervously tugs at a lock of hair. "Extenuating circumstances has my cousins and I staying with him for the moment." Raw raises an eyebrow but doesn't say anything else.

Soft music drifts through the large, open room; it's beautiful, and just loud enough that everyone can hear it to dance to. People begin pairing up, Darcy watches them, and Pitch can see the longing in her eyes.

Before he can ask her to dance with him, however-

"May I trouble you for a dance?" A polite, genteel voice asks; and Darcy is astonished to see a freaking rodent just a little shorter than Bunny in a silk vest the color of daffodils, with a bronze pocket watch. He's very round, with wet, black eyes and long, perfectly groomed whiskers.

Darcy allows him to lead her out on the floor, with nothing more than a fleeting glance at Pitch, before she disappears into the crowd, seemingly swallowed by the myriad of spirits and immortals that attend the party.

Raw pats Pitch on the shoulder as the Shade glares after the Groundhog, finding himself actually wishing that Bunny was present to rid the party of a pest.

"Don't worry, my friend. You'll get your chance." Rawhead assures, Pitch raises an eyebrow at the spirit.

"What makes you say that?"

"The Groundhog has wandering paws."

(Line)

Not 4 minutes later, Darcy is regretting the dance with every fiber of being, every shred of her humanity, and every ounce of her pride as a woman.

Darcy doesn't like dancing with the Groundhog; he's a pompous arrogant showoff who hasn't shut up about himself since they began dancing. Not only is the subject exceptionally dull anyhow, but he has the most droning, annoying voice imaginable.

Admittedly, he can dance alright, and all that Darcy can do is wait impatiently for the song to end so that she'll have an excuse to leave.

"You're a lovely dancer, Miss Darcy." It's the first thing out of his mouth that hasn't retained to himself and all Darcy can do not to cry in relief is smile politely and say, "thank you."

"Really, I don't know where mortals could pick such a skill up! It's so civilized and," blocking out the words as best she can, Darcy takes a deep breath as she sees red. Just a moment longer, she thinks. I can hold out till then.

"I took a class in dance when I was a child." She answers as politely as she can, though it's still rather icy. The Groundhog takes no notice.

He prattles on about how nice she looks, and just as she's beginning to soothe her temper, one of the Groundhog's paws moves lower than her waist and gives her rear a firm squeeze.

Darcy stops dead, and before she can stop herself, she pulls her fist back and aligns it with the rodent's snout, flooring him.

Dancers around them stop moving to watch her storm back to the corner where Pitch and Rawhead are chatting quietly.

Pitch takes one look at Darcy's face and winces at what she must have done to the Groundhog.

"Are you alright?" He asks, Darcy waves off the concern and absently shakes her right hand, it's now stinging, but she didn't break anything so it'll probably only bruise.

"Fine, but if that fat sonofabitch comes near me again I'll rip out his throat." She hisses, and Rawhead can only laugh again before nudging Pitch.

"I like this girl! Don't lose her, okay, Pitch? I'm going to speak with Enyo and we're probably going to leave. Nice meeting you, Darcy." Rawhead bows his head and walks away, humming some unidentifiable tune under his breath.

"I didn't think you had friends." Darcy says, crossing her arms and leaning against one of the massive beams. Pitch shrugs.

"I have a few companions; Rawhead being one of them."

"And…Enyo?"

"That's the personification of war. We often work together to maximize our powers. Eris, the personification of chaos and discord; all of them were created by humans belief and fear. In a way, they're subservient to myself."

"Sounds like you're bragging, Pitch." Darcy notes playfully. He glares at her and she just grins.

The song changes, and Pitch finds himself holding a hand out to his Mate.

"Despite your last experience with a dance partner, would you care to join me?" Darcy doesn't hesitate to take his hand at all.

(Line)

Tooth is waiting eagerly for North when he and Jack finally return; by now the party is fully underway and there is loud music, dancing and drinking. Everyone is having a wonderful time, even Pitch and Darcy.

Especially Pitch and Darcy.

"Tooth!" North exclaims in surprise upon seeing her. "What is wrong? Is party alright?"

Jack cocks his head and floats above the crowd, glancing around, only to gasp in shock.

"It's going great! They've been dancing and talking for hours now!" Tooth admits happily, clapping her hands in excitement.

Darcy's arms are around Pitch's neck and she's smiling so happily it's like there's a miniature star behind her smile. Pitch has his hands around her waist gently, so as not to make her uncomfortable, and they're both laughing. It's obvious that no one's having as good a time, and no one knows what to make of the two of them.

"That's amazing…"Jack admitted, before he spotted Bunny chatting up a driad. He wrinkles his nose; nature spirits have always been rude to him, because his Frost hurts them (not like he can really help it).

And then his eyes lock on her.

Her long, pale blond hair is in a long braid past her hips; wearing a long, gauzy white dress that exposes her shoulders, and reaches just past her knees. Like her, she's barefoot.

Jack lands in front of where she's dancing by herself, and she watches, amused but unsurprised.

"Hi," he greets. She smiles.

"Hello Jack." Her voice is breathy and familiar, although he's sure that he's never heard it before.

"Do I know you?"

"In a sense," she admits, brushing one long bang from her grey eyes. "I am Borea." It comes to him in a flash.

"Wind." He gasps, she grins.

"The North."

(Line)

Darcy thinks that if she is to die right now, she might not care to spend an eternity in hell for everything she's done; she feels so safe and comfortable right now, here in Pitch's arms. She could stay like this forever.

Likewise, Pitch feels the same; he adores that Darcy is so trusting of him, and willing to accept any comfort and protection that he will give her.

How long have they been dancing together?

Darcy's eyes are starting to droop, and she leans closer to him, trying to stay awake.

Pitch smiles down at her, and Darcy peers up at him, her chin tucked into his chest. "Tired?" By now, the party _is _starting to wind down and many are pairing up and heading to their various homes and dens.

"A bit." She yawns and blushes.

"Perhaps you should be getting for bed, then?" She shrugs noncommittally and curls even closer to him.

Taking charge, Pitch leads her from the hall, passing a passed out Bunny and Frost, eagerly chatting with a girl who looked a little younger than her, her legs folded under her and floating in mid air without thought. North and Tooth are slow dancing, taking advantage of the space quickly becoming available.

Darcy follows absently, not realizing that their hands are linked.

(Line)

**TA DA!**

**REVIEW IF YOU WANT MORE!**

**Wow…long chapter…so tired, need coffee!**


	15. Chapter 15

**This took a lot of work and imagination on my part, and I hope that this is alright…**

**Okay, for those of you that haven't noticed, I now have a cover for Nightmares & Maladies, made by Kiara Lee Phoenix, the most amazing artist ever; it's available for a better look on DeviantArt, just search under Nightmares & Maladies. If you want to show your love for me, I encourage you to investigate her work, because she's great, and I respect her very much for taking up the challenge!**

**I'm so sorry that this took so long, it shames me to realize it's been FOREVER since I last posted a chapter, but some stuff has been going on, and, unfortunately, the story has been on my mental backburner. It's up now, that's all the matters.**

**So happy with the amount of reviews that I got for my last posting, because I wasn't so sure about it, but apparently ya'll liked it enough that 8 more people faved! YAY! Love all of you.**

**Thank you, ObsidianLove, who read my story in a couple days and reviewed to each of the chapters! Means so much to know I'm doing so well.**

**Enjoy, and if the following…er, smut (I hesitate to say that, because it isn't smut, so much as two broken people finding solace in each other, but I know that what some people will see it as, so what the hell), is a bit…shy; I've never written one before, so…yeah…**

**So, in this chapter, Pitch and Kozmotis are the same, I just wound up switching back and forth between the two by accident, but I didn't want to change it; I thought it was a cool effect, but I'm just warning ya'll so you won't get confused. **

**Ta ta lovelies!**

**(line)**

Darcy lets Pitch lead her to her room, so tired she's stumbling. "Hold up a second," she mumbles to him, before leaning down and unhooking her high heels; one of the few things that comes to Darcy easily is walking in heels over 3 inches in height (**A/N: I seriously know a girl like that; she wears these 5 inch platforms to school and has no issue with it. Darcy's heels aren't **_**that**_** high, they're only 3 ½ inches, and they're not platforms)**.

She smiles at the feel of cold wood under her bare feet and wriggles her toes, before scooping up the strappy heels.

"That's better." She acknowledges, and Pitch smiles in amusement.

"You don't like shoes?" He asks, Darcy nods.

"It's easier for me to feel comfortable when I'm barefoot. I think it might have to do with the Earth Magic thing, but I can't be sure…" Darcy blushes a bit, and Pitch takes her hand again.

"Are you tired?" Pitch asks, Darcy shakes her head.

"Not really…I'm not sleepy…worn out, but I don't think that I could sleep."

Pitch chuckles; Darcy grins at him.

_Is this what it feels like to have a normal life?_ Darcy wonders, dreading that they'll be to her room too quickly, and that this happiness will end. _To not have a life filled with tragedy? Filled with pain and hurt? If I was just a woman and Pitch any other man? To feel like nothing but what we are, whatever that could be?_

When they reach the door, there is a moment of awkwardness; Pitch doesn't want to leave and Darcy doesn't want him to go.

"I…thank you, Pitch, thank you for tonight."

"You're most welcome Darcy. Your dancing was wonderful." Darcy looks down and sees their hands linked and blushes, warmth spreading from the contact.

"You're not so bad yourself, either. Pitch, I…thank you for everything." Pitch opens his mouth and Darcy takes a deep breath. "You saved me, you listen to me. It's…it's more than most people have done for me, and it means a lot, more than I think that you know…I have something for you, actually." Pitch blinks, and Darcy releases his hand, slowly, before turning to open the door to her room.

To this day, she doesn't know exactly how North managed to make a room that suited to her needs; it's large and airy, the walls paneled with rich oak, and lined with floor to ceiling books on nearly all subjects; quite a few of them in Atlantian (Darcy was very thankful for that, and told North so), the floor is of the same wood, with the occasional rag rug gracing it. The bed is large and covered in thick white comforters laced with silver intricate stitching, Pitch wonders if silver is her favorite color considering that nearly everything that Darcy owns is lined with it; the bed is a canopy, the frame in black iron, wrought in curlicues and vines that Pitch thinks suits Darcy, creamy gauze hanging from the canopies. There is a small balcony, and Pitch is astonished to see that there is no snow coating it, instead a view of a calm ocean in the night.

"Did you…?" He wonders as Darcy flits to the chest of drawers.

"One of my first pieces of major magic that the book instructed; it's sort of like a portal, but it's only for visual purposes only, and it's just one way, no one on the other side can see or come through, and I can only watch." She explains absently, pulling out random wrapped packages, squinting and then stowing them in another drawer. "It's something to watch when I'm having trouble learning and everyone else is busy." She adds, her eyebrows knitting together as she grows ever more frustrated before finally letting out a little battle call of victory as she produced a very small present wrapped in black, with a shimmering emerald bow.

"What is that?" Pitch asks, smiling as she prances over to the Boogey Man, arm outstretched and holding the gift out triumphantly.

"Your present. Merry Christmas." She plops it into Pitch's hands with a particular self satisfied air about her that makes Pitch think that she doesn't often find what she's lost.

"My present." He repeats in a dead pan. Darcy nods, her hands on her hips.

Carefully, he looks at the wrapping paper again; what he'd thought was black is instead a glossy black with a darker shade racing through it, like Fearlings, if you turn it just right. A swipe over what had first appeared to be paper makes him blink the wrapping is fabric, well woven and finer than the most expensive of silks. Did Darcy…

"Did you make the paper?" He wonders aloud, gasping at the thought. She shrugs.

"Another spell in the book; star weaving? I adjusted it a bit, it's actually from the reflection of the night sky on a still pond." Pitch laughs and, without thinking, he reaches out and strokes her cheek; Darcy leans into the contact.

"You never cease to amaze me, dear Darcy." He admits, smiling warmly at her, and Darcy feels her heart pound at the praise. When he finally begins to unwrap the package as carefully as it deserves, she begins to wring her hands nervously, a part of her worries that Pitch won't want it.

Carefully, he undoes the wrappings; it's not quite fabric, more like liquid in his fingers, and it still gleams, even as it is sharply contrasted by the white box beneath it. There is no label on it, but the box is about the size of his palm, the depth is the width of two fingers. It's not heavy, per se, but it is rather weighty. With growing interest, he peels the lid away from the present, and feels himself choke up.

In Pitch's hands is his locket; the one that he lost so long ago in his battle with the Guardians at Punjam Hy Loo; it's just like he remembers. The metal isn't quite gold or silver, and it almost seems to gleam with light, but it doesn't burn. The etchings that he traces with his fingers are both familiar and alien. With trembling fingers, he opens the clasp, and finds that he can't breathe. The portrait of his daughter as she used to be is in there as well, looking newer and far more detailed than before. He can practically she her eyes crinkle the way that they do when she is truly happy, but he can still make out the eclipse like eyes that she's inherited from him, as well as the feline smile. It truly dawns on Pitch then, exactly what this is; Darcy _made_ this for him.

"You made this? How?" He demands in awe, the blood rises to her cheeks in embarrassment.

"Her…I saw what it looked like with a scrying technique, and I know that it means something important to you…Bunny told me that the metal for it was made from star silver, but because it would burn you, I had to melt it down first and combine it with a bit of lead…um…so, yeah…you like it?"

"Darcy, this-this is absolutely incredible! Where did you get the idea for this?" Pitch asks, she grins broadly.

"Believe it or not: Bunny. He told me about the locket first. I asked him the date of the battle with Punjam Hy Loo and that kind of thing…and I got some good looks at the locket and the portrait…you know." He blinks and looks at the portrait again; she painted this? He suspected that Darcy had abilities in the artistic field, but this is better than the original.

"Darcy, I don't know how to thank you, this is amazing, and I…it means very much to me. Thank you." And he leans down slightly, without thinking, brushing his lips over her forehead. Darcy both stiffens and relaxes, and he hugs her; no embrace, _hug_. His arms are around her lower back, loosely, so she can run if she becomes frightened, but he does pour everything that he feels for her into it.

Darcy wants desperately to throw herself into his arms, but the best that she can manage to do is wind her arms around Pitch's neck and lean up; her heart is beating so fast that she can't hear anything but a steady drumbeat in hear ears, let alone feel it at the very tips of her fingers.

"Breathe, Darcy," Pitch reminds softly. She swallows and kisses his cheek quickly, no more than a brush of lips on skin, but it makes him smile.

"Pitch…I…I don't know…what are we?" Darcy whispers; Pitch can feel the depth of her fear and for once, it makes him absolutely sick. All that he wants to do, in this moment, is to soothe Darcy's fear, to take away her nightmares. He can feel the frantic heartbeat of hers, and it physically pains him.

He wanted to make her forget all of this; about the pain she's gone through, about the oncoming fights with Ombric; even if it meant her never meeting him, he would have gladly given her a normal life at that moment, and he finds himself admitting to her, in a low, quiet breath,

"I consider you a valuable friend and a courageous young woman. I would like to…take this to another step."

"Pitch-"

"Let me love you, Darcy. Let me worship you like the queen that you are, my dear." She licks her lips and looks away, but she doesn't release her grip on Pitch. Even when she is afraid, she trusts him more than any other.

"But what you said to Bunny-"

"The Pooka was attempting to bait me with some rather distasteful commentary about how I couldn't call myself a man if I hadn't noticed you're…appearance. What you heard was a bit of a temper tantrum on my part, I confess." Pitch replies, choosing his words carefully; he knew that Darcy is still contemplating running, all of her muscles tensed and ready to bolt.

"Oh…" Darcy's thoughts are racing, a thousand miles an hour at least, tangled and entwined. She wants, desperately to believe that he means what comes out of his mouth, but for her, love is pain and bloodshed and fear. She doesn't want that, and yet, she wants whatever it is that Pitch is willing to give her.

"I care about you very much, Darcy. Please; I'm asking you to trust me, to let give you the world like you deserve." Pitch begs, actually begs, and that when Darcy gathers her semblance of courage and kissed him.

It was her first one.

Heat exploded on both ends of the kiss, traveling through their bodies and warming both Pitch's and Darcy's fingertips and toes; what the kiss lacks in experience, it makes up for in how eager she is. Pitch takes the lead carefully, guiding her as best her can without sharing words; Darcy is a quick learner, he's surprised to note (and more than a little pleased).

Pitch is gentle with Darcy, as gentle as it is possible to be (remarkably, for the Boogeyman; it's like trying to pet an injured, feral animal; Darcy will bolt at any moment, he knows, so he gives her no reason to). One hand reaches up and cups her face softly, his thumb stroking the softness of her cheek. The other hand plunges into the silky softness of her hair, gently rubbing at her scalp.

Darcy is as close to purring as she can be, and she actually moans, and takes charge for a brief moment, deepening the kiss, and is immediately awarded with the taste of something rich and spicy, like a type of wine, and she realizes that it's _Pitch_ that she's tasting, and it's damn near addictive. Likewise, Pitch is completely absorbed in the taste of Darcy; cinnamon and oranges and the smell of roses, exactly as he'd imagined, deep in his heart of hearts.

The burning in her lungs has Darcy pulling away, but she doesn't want to. All that she wants is to maintain the heat and press herself closer to Pitch.

She blinks away the hazy fog around her eyes and smiles at the concern in Pitch's eyes.

"Will you let me?" He asks again, brushing her hair from her face.

Darcy nods and before Pitch can realize what she's doing, Darcy has reached up, and has gently begun to undo the buttons on Pitch's attire; he doesn't move to stop her, and allows her to run her fingers over every inch of skin that is exposed to her. Part of Darcy has wondered at the texture of Pitch's skin; she assumed that because of it's granite color, it would retain some of the qualities of the stone. Pitch's skin isn't soft, but it isn't impenetrable either; it's a perfect balance that is almost like velvet under her hands.

Pitch struggles not to moan as the sash falls to the floor, and his tunic slips off his shoulders, exposing his upper body to Darcy's interested eye; Pitch isn't muscled like an avid athlete, but he is lithe and thin, and there is and outline of a six pack on his abdomen. Her fingers start to tremble as she reaches for his pants, but Pitch stops her.

"If this is too much for you, Darcy, then you don't need to do this." He assures, gently taking her hands in his.

"No, no, I can do this. I _want_ this Pitch, please-"

"Kozmotis." He interrupts suddenly, she raises an eyebrow. "Call me Kozmotis when we're alone, Darcy." The look of apprehension leaves her face then, and Darcy smiles that sweet, innocent smile.

"Kozmotis…alright, I can do that." She admits happily, forgetting the fear.

There is something intimate about Pitch asking her to use his name, his _real_ name, and it touches Darcy, very deeply. She meets his eyes calmly this time, and with a deep breath, she reaches up and takes the lily out of her hair, and with it, the rest of her hair falls as well.

"I want this, Kozmotis. I don't want to be afraid of a ghost anymore. Can you help me, please?" She asks, leaning up and speaking so quietly against his lips Pitch can more or less only feel the words, rather than hear them.

"I can do that. I will not hurt you Darcy, do you trust me?" He asks, for the final time.

Darcy thinks of Pitch and the ways he's helped her; the comfort, the kind words, the quiet laughter in the middle of the night, the stories and the confessions. She remembers the way that he arrived to the attic and, like a dark, avenging angel, banished Ombric's servants to punish them later.

"I trust you." She repeats, and he kisses her again, this time it's passionate and slow, and Darcy follows Pitch's lead, struggling to repress the instinct to flinch as he begins to undo the ties and ribbons on the back of the dress.

"I love you," Pitch admits, easing her on the bed as they pull away. Darcy laughs a hollow sort of laugh and smiles sadly.

"Why?"

Pitch runs his fingers through her hair again, but this time he takes his time savoring the feel; admittedly, he's wanted to play with the strands since he first accepted the fact that Darcy is his mate, but he's never thought that anyone's hair could be so soft and yet so coarse at the same time.

"Must I list them?"

"It would be nice to see what someone as beautiful as you can see in a broken person like me." Darcy admits, shivers as his fingers begin to pull the dress away from her, exposing more and more of her skin.

Pitch pities Darcy, but he loves her more; he can only imagine the suffering that's made her blind to the beauty that looks back at her from a mirror.

"Where to begin?" He muses, watching her blush under his ministrations. Darcy is now left in nothing but a see through chemise and lacy panties; and Pitch marvels at the beautiful body beneath him. "To start with your body…" he takes his index finger and runs it from her ear, to the space between her breasts, and pauses at Darcy's belly button. "I love the way that you blush," he doesn't give her the chance to ask a question about it, "the way that your pale skin turns such a delicious color, so quickly, it reminds me how alive and vivacious that you are, and you look beautiful when you do so." He admits, before noticing the way her lips were twitching in an effort not to smile. "I love how expressive your mouth is, and how balanced your lips are and the way that you smile like you're in possession of a secret that no one knows." He traces those lips with his thumb, and Pitch nearly melts in pleasure when Darcy actually begins to suck on it slightly.

He is a man beneath many monsters, after all.

"Your eyes are so beautiful, they easily outshine the stars when you smile; and you're smile, Darcy is so beautiful. It shines in the darkness when you smile like you do; as Sophie, at Jamie, but I think that it makes me happiest when you smile at me." Darcy whimpers slightly at the look in Pitch's-no, in Kozmotis' eyes.

They weren't hungry, or angry; they are focused on her with such adoration and intensity, it makes her want to cry; what does she deserve to have this man love her as he so clearly does?

"Do you trust me?" He whispers, his fingers ghosting down her navel and slightly dipping into her underwear; she stifles a whimper.

It takes a moment for Darcy to work up an answer for him; the walls are spinning, and she realizes that she's forgotten to breathe. She has to tether herself back to th present, but eventually answers Kozmotis' question with a shaky, "yes."

"I promise Darcy, I won't hurt you."

Darcy finds herself bristling slightly, and hisses, "don't make promises that you can't keep." She moves to get up, but Pitch is in a sort of cage around her, keeping her from getting up, but not forcing to her to completely lie down.

"But that is a promise I can keep Darcy. I will _never_ hurt you." He won't do this if she can't trust him.

The moment spans forever; Darcy wants to run so badly. Her system is flooded with adrenaline; she doesn't think that she can do this, and she desperately looks for an escape. But she makes herself look into his eyes; they aren't her father's. They belong to Kozmotis, and, vaguely, she thinks that what she's seeing in them now, this must be what love looks like.

Swallowing thickly, she focuses on those eyes. It calms her down, and she knows that if this is going to happen, she'll need to keep eye contact for most, of it, and to listen to his voice.

"Alright Kozmotis, I believe in you." And that response makes Pitch's heart soar as he leans forward to kiss her again.

(Line)

Darcy is even more beautiful in the throes of ecstasy than Pitch ever dared to believe possible; she is all pale skin flushed with embarrassment, struggling not to flinch as he tried to make her relax with gentle touches. There is brief pain, and tears as memories flood her when Pitch enters her, but the tears are kissed away, and he murmurs to Darcy that she's doing so well, that he'll protect her, to relax, to tell him to move when she feels ready.

When Darcy manages to give consent and Kozmotis begins to thrust, she can bring herself to remember anything bad, especially when she looks into his eyes; so warm and full of love, it…it pushes away anything else bad, and it makes her feel warm, and brings her to the present; more importantly, it keeps her there.

Darcy is warm, and tight, and Pitch has to struggle to keep control, even as Darcy begins to tentatively push back on his thrusts, and discovers the pleasure that he's willing to give.

This isn't fucking, she realizes, as she begins to move, to really move, with Kozmotis, this is making love; and, despite what some people will say, there _is_ a difference.

This experience is entirely emotional and physical, and almost spiritual, on some levels; the heat and the promises and the love is enough to make Darcy teeter on the edge, but she won't, she wants Kozmotis to feel as good as Darcy does, and boy, does it feel good.

Time passes strangely; this is timeless, an act reenacted so many times that is without number; but she wonders if two beings could ever love each other as much as they do. Because that's what this is, Darcy realizes, moaning as Pitch massages her breast, whispering something in a language that she can't identify.

"Castrian, ashtre mihal, krhne," he whispers, and Darcy almost screams as he angles differently, hitting something in her that makes her see stars. Sensing the change, Pitch continues to hit that spot, reducing her into something that is a mess of sweat and pleasure.

Pitch is close; his once constant thrusts have become erratic, and he's pounding into her as hard as he is able, but Darcy is so far gone, all she can gasp is '_harder', 'faster' 'please'_, and claw at Pitch's back, digging her nails into the pliant smoothness there, leaving bloody furrows in their wake.

Darcy is on the precipice on an orgasm the likes that she's never had; her body is taut with tension, and her back is arched, and her lips form words that aren't words as she tries to keep on telling Pitch what she wants, what she needs.

But she doesn't need to; wherever Pitch was, he manages to pull himself out of it long enough to bite into her shoulder, hard and deep, snarling, "Mine." It shouldn't, but the thought does arouse her, and then suddenly, she is nowhere and everywhere all at once.

Every nerve ending in Darcy's body soars, and she is sure that she is in heaven because _nothing_ has ever felt this good; her vision first wavers and whites out, and her hearing fades, but she can vaguely hear someone screaming in the background, before her senses are cut from her, and she is free of all thought and contemplation, instead floating on a sea of good feelings.

For once, she's content to stay there.

(Line)

Pitch feels Darcy clamp around him, and suddenly he lets himself be pushed over the edge as well, releasing his essence deep into her; he stares down at Darcy; her body glistening with sweat, boneless in his arms, and blacked out from orgasm.

He could get used to the sight.

Her hair is mussed from sex, skin still flushed, but her mouth, red and swollen from kisses, is slightly open, and she breathes, deeply, easily. Her breasts are exposed to him, nipples taut, and he crawls up beside her, pulling the blanket with him.

Pitch wraps himself around Darcy, nuzzling into her hair, inhaling her scent. He's never been so happy, never so sated.

As he drifts into a peaceful sleep, he gets the vague sensation of being watched, but doesn't investigate; he doesn't see the calf brown eyes, almost luminescent now, brimmed with tears, as Jamie shuts the door with a silent 'click'.

(Line)

Once, when Jamie was little, he jumped into the pond in the middle of the Burgess Woods before it was warm enough to swim; he didn't just jump, to be accurate; instead he cannon balled from the branches of a tree, and hit the water still curled in the semi fetal position that Darcy had taught him so that he'd go deeper into the water, and make a bigger splash.

As soon as he'd hit the water, he realized his mistake; the water was freezing, and his lungs felt like they'd collapsed; he couldn't move, couldn't breathe. He'd never felt so helpless, so afraid, as he had in that dark, cold water.

That feeling was now second; his cousin was in love, had, had slept with, the creature that tried to kill him last Easter.

Jamie wanders down the halls of Santoff Claussen, numb to everything.

_She's betrayed you, Jamie._ His mind whispers, and he nods, not realizing that the tears are falling freely now. His body trembles, and anyone who saw him now would be astonished to see how similar he looks to Darcy.

_She's lost._

_Pitch has caught her in his web._

Jamie flinches at the images that return to him, and he realizes, at last, that these thoughts aren't his own. He is both curious and afraid.

"Who are you?" Jamie asks quietly, entering a darkened hallway; he's lost, and he doesn't know that this part of the fortress is used mainly for rejected toys, and that hardly anyone comes down her, be they yeti, elf, or North himself. There are few lights there, and strangely, most of the light is coming from a window at the other end of the hall.

"_Just a friend, Jamie. You feel alone, don't you? Like…no one seems to care?"_

"You don't know anything." Jamie mumbles, walking toward the window, drawn to it like a moth to a flame.

"_Oh but I do. I know that you don't want Darcy hurt, or Sophie, or Jack, or the rest of the Guardians. But that's just what Pitch will do. I can help you, you know, help you protect Darcy and the others from him."_ This is too good to be true, Jamie should be pleased by the offer, but a strange memory occurs to him.

Standing on the front porch, crying, looking up at Darcy because one of the kids at school had been making fun of him about Big Foot; the boy had pretended to care about what Jamie had thought, about his beliefs, and then he'd spread rumors about it by recess. Jamie had been teased to the point of skipping and running home, where Darcy was (early this year; school had let out the previous week for her, but his school wouldn't end for another week), reading one of her books. **"Why did he lie?"** Jamie had asked her, Darcy had looked at him with her timeless eyes, and she'd said something that he later, much later, realized she lived by. **"Most people have to be taken at face value, Jamie. If it's anyone but blood, ask yourself what they're getting out of it; or, better yet, ask them."**

Jamie thinks hard; what would this 'friend' want by protecting Darcy?

"Why do you want to help?"

"_Because, sweet Jamie, Pitch has wronged me in the past, as he has attempted, and is attempting to do to you. Have you not heard; 'the enemy of my enemy is my friend'?"_ Jamie had heard that one, from Darcy. _"I can help you. Will you allow it?"_

Jamie, satisfied with the answer, steeled his resolve. "What do I have to do?"

"_Come closer."_

The window.

The voice, the friend, wants him to walk to the window; how easy could that be?

He pads to the window, smiling softly, and stares outside; it's a blizzard, a whiteout. But what else can you expect from the arctic landscape? There is, nonetheless, enough light to see his reflection, and, in front of him-

An old, withered hand grasps out, bony fingers around his neck, and Jamie is pulled forward into the glass; all he can do is let out a choked scream, and brace for impact, but it never comes, instead, he is falling…

(Line)

Darcy has sweet dreams that night, and for once, Sandy has nothing to do with it.

She doesn't dream of the past, dark and cold, blood spattered and pain littered; instead, she dreams of a future, bright and warm, with Kozmotis. She dreams of a family; of _their_ family. Always a mothering sort of woman by nature, she wants as many children as she can have, as _they_ can have, together. She dreams of dancing with her (lover?friend?boyfriend?) Kozmotis, under a new moon, in the caverns that she knows, somehow, he's turned into a palace for himself. She dreams of him presenting her with little gifts and trinkets that he knows that she'll like; but she loves them no matter what he gets, because he put thought into finding something for her. Darcy dreams of him making love to her in every way; she dreams of giving him tenfold the pleasure that he's showed her. She dreams of raising children with him, raising Sophie and Jamie with him (her lawyer had told her that because she is the closest relative, both by blood and location, and she has a steady income, plenty of savings from various insurance policies and a naturally frugal nature, as well as uncanny luck in the stock market, the kids will be put into her custody). She dreams of _living_.

Pitch, meanwhile, dreams much of the same thing. He dreams of children that they can both dote on, but not before he ensures that Darcy is aware he will never leave her, that he needs her. He dreams of rocking dark haired children to sleep, of caring for their family, of making peace with Sera. He dreams of Darcy in a white gown, smiling and looking so, _so_ happy, smiling her smile at him, and only him. Pitch dreams that Darcy makes her mark on his citadel; adding familial touches, of giving the place a softer feel, despite being carved from stone.

Neither stir, or even twitch when Jamie is spirited away by Ombric.

(Line)

When Darcy wakes up, she is surrounded by warmth that reaches bone deep. Her ear is pressed to Kozmotis' chest, and she can feel the steady heartbeat, strong and powerful, reverberate through her body. Carefully, she measures out the beats of his heart, and the way that his chest falls and rises; he still sleeps.

His arms are around her waist protectively, his face peaceful. She draws herself up to look at him, and winces at the feeling of pain that slivers down her body from the bite. She reaches up to touch it. The blood is dry.

How long has she been passed out?

She looks down at Pitch's face; he looks like an entirely different person when he sleeps; he looks younger, less worn down.

Pitch is beautiful, she realizes, in a way that can be compared to the way that silence in a still house can be beautiful; strange, even frightening, but if listened to, and heeded, something peaceful and still. Darcy half fancies that she can see the aristocrat that he once was in his face.

She studies the sharp cheekbones, the smooth expanse of forehead, the thin lips (dried with blood, she notices with a smile). His hair is flat, from sleeping, and she notices that their clothes are neatly folded at the foot of the bed.

Darcy raises an eyebrow and turns to investigate, only to be pulled back into bed (which smells like the both of them), Kozmotis rolling on top of her with a sly grin that makes her blush.

"Good morning, Darcy. Happy Christmas." He greets casually, like they're discussing the weather, not having a post sex conversation.

"Morning, Kozmotis. Feliz Navidad." She blinks when he leans forward and kisses the tip of her nose playfully.

"What was that for?" Darcy asks, but when he just shrugs, all she can do is laugh and kiss him on the lips.

It's like emerging from a chrysalis; she has no reservations with Koz, not now.

They make love again in the early hours of the morning, and again, and a final time when Darcy was attempting to clean up in the bathroom and Pitch crept in after her. After that is finished, they talk quietly; they acquaint themselves with each other. Pitch learns that Darcy has been printed; she's come out with two different novels, under a pen name, since she's been on her own, as well as working odd jobs to keep the boredom at bay.

By the time that they are done, Darcy has nearly forgotten about the clothes; it's only when Pitch says, off handedly, "when did you fold these?" that she remembers.

The previous conversation had been when Pitch's language had relapsed into his mother tongue, and he briefly translated what it meant, blushing deeply and looking at the floor ("it, er, means, roughly; 'you are my soul, angel, my feral little lover'. Of course, it's not quite so crude, it just…that's the gist anyhow.").

"They were like that when we woke up. I thought that you did." He shakes his head; despite the fact that it's Christmas morning, he's back in his usual clothes, and Darcy is wearing a white cashmere sweater and black skinny jeans. She's just finished putting her hair into a ponytail. She walks over to the bed and picks up the dress, only to see an envelope flutter to the ground.

She scoops it up and curiously opens it.

First is a note, bearing the words _**Merry Christmas**_

Second is what looks like a Polaroid. Darcy takes one look at it and lets out a shriek.

Jamie, cowering in a cell that is the epitome of filth, blood coating his pajama shirt. He shrinks from the camera, covering his eyes with arms that look too frail, and Darcy feels bile rise into her throat when she sees that he has no pajama pants.

(Line)

Ombric strokes Jamie's hair in a way that could be tender, but is not, as he watches Darcy's reaction to the photo. His scrying skills are what he's most proud of, other than his mind, of course.

Jamie flinches when his hands drift lower, and Ombric smiles wickedly; he enjoys the fear, the abhorrence, the weakness that he can cause in children. It appeals to his nature, somehow. Of course, by now, the boy has realized the entirety of his mistake, of trusting Ombric, but it's too late to change his decision, to go back on his actions.

"Don't worry, Jamie, Darcy will be here soon. She'll save you, like she always does," he promises in that sweet, cloying voice; goose bumps raise on Jamie's skin and he tries to remember to breathe, only occasionally managing a shuddering gasp that rocks his tiny body to the core. Ombric, seeing the fear, the weakness, smiles. "It's always been Darcy to save you, of course; from the bullies, from boredom, from your father. It's only been Darcy who paid attention to you, and how do you repay her? By plotting to be rid of her beloved. Naughty, naughty, Jamie. You must be punished for being such a bad boy, as I was when I was your age."

Oh, and how Ombric was punished back then…

His master had no mercy on the quiet boy; an orphan mage, he was entrusted to one of the schoolmasters to be taught; the man had taught him nothing by way of magic, instead, teaching him how addictive it could be to hate someone, to use and abuse those weaker than yourself.

Everyone knew what his master did to him, the acts he made him perform, not only in their home, but in the school, on the streets, at parties, even for other men. No one cared for Ombric's suffering. He hated them all. But he studied, he worked hard; he played the love struck slave (even if he wasn't that by title), and pleasured that man. He studied the books that belonged to the older pupils, reigned in his magic, and he had his revenge.

He brought the once great kingdom to the ground in a single night, and he laughed as he did so.

Jamie cries again, wishing that he hadn't listened to the voice.

**I encourage all of you, as it is Memorial Day, to keep in mind the sacrifice of everyone who works to keep our country free, and the families that have to surrender a loved one for us.**

**I say thank you for that, from all of us.**


	16. Chapter 16

**Sorry guys; my school let out earlier in the month and I've sort of been suffering from summer writer's block. Happens to me every year because of all the free time my brain has, and then it just locks up on me. I should've warned you earlier, but…well…yeah..**

**We've officially reached 170 reviews! Yay for us! Only you can keep the numbers going, so lets continue! **

**Believe it or not, I think that I might almost be done with this; I see a few more chapters left and then it's done…it's a weird feeling; I've written fanfiction since the 3****rd**** grade, and I've never finished any, except for the occasional one shot; see what happens is that I get obsessed about something (say RotG) and watch everything about it, research it, cross reference it, you name it; but I burn myself out on it. I'll be honest, I'm starting to obsess over an old anime, Yu-Gi-Oh! (God I feel like such a dork), and I really am struggling to finish this quickly, because I've posted a story regarding that particular anime.**

**God, it makes me feel old remembering that old thing; I knew everything about every character! I had the cards, the lunchbox, you name it, I had it…**

**Anyhow, enjoy this and check out my new story Shadow Speaker, and investigate the work of my buddy Kiara Phoenix here on and on DeviantArt, because she's amazing and made a cover for this very story! Yay for Kiara!**

**Short chapter unfortunately.**

Pitch catches Darcy as she sways. Her eyes have taken on a glassy sheen, but her mouth is set.

"He took him, Pitch." She whispers, staring beyond him, and he realizes that she may very well have broken.

"Darcy, Jamie-"

"Jamie. He took Jamie." Her voice begins to shake and tremble as tears burn her eyes. But this time she won't cry. She won't be weak, because that won't help Jamie. "How? It's supposed to be safe here, how did he get him?" Finally she meets his gaze, and he winces at the pain in her eyes.

His poor Darcy; always tortured, always in pain. Why? Why is it that she's the one who will suffer, every time.

"Darcy, I…"He remembers the conversation with North; the link between their minds must have been a diversion. Something else had been used to lure Jamie to Ombric. Three guesses how, and the first two don't count.

"Ombric must have used me." Pitch admits, and her eyes darken.

Any man who knows they've just pissed off their significant others, knows that they have a very short amount of time before she/he begins to make assumptions and will go off, based on what she knows and imagines.

"Ombric somehow created a mind link with Jamie."

"He WHAT?"

"He must have rifled through his memories and used his distrust for me to manipulate him." Darcy stared at him, and he realizes, a split second too late, that he has, officially, fucked up.

"That sonofabitch was in Jamie's _head_ and you didn't think it prudent to inform me?" Ice crept in along with her words, and Pitch tried to think of something to say before it was too late.

"North and I,"

"NORTH KNEW?" _Shit._

"thought that it was harmless. The connection was too small for anything major-"

"NOTHING IS SMALL WHEN IT COMES TO OMBRIC!" She screams, the window panes cracking as the air grows denser, and her hair begins to move in an invisible wind; just like that incident in the kitchen. Her eyes flicker, and then Pitch is hit with a wave of magic so hostile that it's painful.

"How could you?" She demands, and Pitch is at a loss. What can he do? "GET OUT! GO AWAY!"

And then the Magic pushes Pitch, physically out the door, and slams it behind him.

Against his better judgment, he stands outside the door and listens to her rage; he winces as things break and splinter, and hears her scream herself hoarse.

He waits and waits until there is silence, and then he forces himself to gather the guardians, because they cannot wait.

(Line)

Sophie Bennett wakes up on Christmas morning in the usual way; in a hyper ball of energy; it's a curious thing that the majority of children, after a good night's sleep, will wake up faster than the average adult, and that's especially true if it's Sophie.

Sophie likes her new room at the North Pole; it's big and full of toys and soft animals; Santa gave it to her the day after she and Jamie arrived. The walls are white from the waist (an adult's) down, and a delicate shade of pale pink the rest of the way up; the ceiling is painted with images from various stories and fairy tales that she recognizes by heart. The white portion of the walls is so she can draw, a large canvas.

It's had to be repainted multiple times since she found out that she could paint the walls.

Sophie notices the wrapped present immediately and set about unwrapping it with the gusto of a child; she still sat among the tangled covers, a dandelion fluff of blond hair among lace bedcovers and sheets, it could be scene from a movie, probably hallmark.

Inside of the small box, under several layers of tissue paper, is a pair of wings.

"PRETTY!" Sophie screeches, reaching in and pulling out the glittering wings; they resemble Tooth's, in the diamond pattern, but hers are pale pink and purple, and seem softer. There are glittering straps that will attach the wings to her, like the fake ones at home.

Darcy fixed the straps somehow so that they were easy to get on, so Sophie could get it done herself, and then she's fluttering above the bed like some sort of dream.

The wings won't let her go higher than 3 feet, and they're steady, so she won't tumble out of the air. When she wants to get down, they guide her gently to the floor and set her on her feet.

Needless to say, Sophie absolutely loves them.

She flits across the hall to Jamie's room, intent on showing him her new wings, but she discovers that he's not there; more than that, his bed isn't made.

Sophie frowns and floats to the ground; padding silently to the bed, she touches the covers, and furrows her eyebrows when she discovers that the bed is cold; not Jack cold, just absent cold, like Jamie hasn't slept there. Jamie has never been an early riser, and it makes her worried.

Something isn't right.

Sophie shivers, unable to stand being in this room; Jamie hasn't personalized it. All the things there are new, and as yet untouched. Since they arrived at the Fort, Jamie has just wandered aimlessly, scowling and brooding at everyone who came near him.

He lashed out at people, but avoided Sophie, maybe to stop himself from doing just that.

What's wrong with her brother?

Why isn't Jamie smiling anymore, or laughing? He won't talk to Jack, he won't play with her…what's happened to make him different?

But then she's flying out of the door again, happy to have such a strange, wonderful gift given to her.

(Line)

By the time that Darcy is finished, her eyes are red, and it feels like her throat has been torn open with the force of her sobs; she is unresponsive when Pitch puts her back to bed, kissing her forehead gently and leaving her to curl in on herself while he goes to break the news to the Guardians.

Darcy feels empty, broken; she feels like a failure.

She can't protect them.

That thought echoes around her tormented brain like a bullet, and tears creep insolently down her cheeks without consent.

Ombric had Jamie.

Ombric had used Pitch to get to Jamie.

Darcy felt numb to the situation for some time, but then her thoughts went to the picture, to what He was doing to Jamie.

The hollow part of her heart seemed to fill, and then she's angry.

Anger floods her, and then it becomes impossible to sit still.

Who does that bastard think that he is? Fuck him!

Darcy has never been quite so angry in her life, and as she tears herself from the warm blankets that still smell of Darcy and Pitch (a scent that she enjoys quite a bit).

What can she do?

Darcy tears through the spell book without thought, trying to find any spell that can transport her, or exchange Jamie for something else, like a changeling; anything that can help her.

(Line)

Tooth is the first to shed tears, but she does not break down, she wears them proudly like a battle scar upon her face, where they glitter on her skin like diamonds. Instead she sends out fairies to try and track down Ombric, and Jamie. North immediately sets out to ready the sleigh. Jack narrows his eyes and listens as Bunny and Pitch begin to speak about battle plans, before he's gone out the window to bellow his rage at the wind, Borea trailing behind him, carrying him into her arms, and then they are gone.

Darcy joins them eventually, a ghost; her skin is pale, eyes over bright and her hair is tied into a low ponytail. They watch as she listens; she won't speak.

Her hands are deep in her pockets, and every time that she is asked a question, she ignores it.

Darcy feels sick; her fingers run over the spell, this one is small, the size of a toffee, inscribed with runes.

She has to do this, she has no choice…

_She sits in the destruction of her room; feathers drift around her, tears run down her face, and she can't move. She doesn't want to move. Everything hurts. Her mind is a jumbled mess, flashing between dreams, nightmares, memories, nonsense._

_Jamie…_

"_OMBRIC YOU FUCKER! WHY YOU SON OF A WHORE! PICK ON SOMEONE YOUR OWN SIZE YOU BASTARD!" She wails, throwing what's left of a book at the mirror, the shards fall to the ground with a sickening crash and she cries some more, pressing her bloody hands to her eyes (she's torn apart everything by hand, tearing the tender skin of her hands in the process and fuck it hurts so good because she's __**weak**__ and she __**failed**__ and she's __**useless**__), taking pleasure in the sting._

"_My Darcy, how the mighty have fallen." She freezes and looks into the mirror shards; he's smiling up at her, a cold, cruel smile, but she just doesn't know what to do._

"_What can you possibly take from me now, Ombric?"_

"_Well there is that delicious little girl-"_

"_No. Please not Sophie."_

_She can smell the rancid sweetness of his breath as he appears behind her and breathes into her ear, speaking quietly. "What will you do for her safety and for Jamie?"_

"_Is he safe?" _

"_Oh, he's __**physically**__ alright. But he won't be forgetting me anytime soon." _

"_I'll kill you."_

"_You can't Darcy. Besides, it won't do any good; I've left a part of myself with Jamie, just like your Daddy did with you; even though __**he's**__ dead, don't you still feel him breathing down your neck, or those hands trailing down your sides? Can't you still hear him grunt like an animal?" Darcy wants nothing more than to hide but why hide the truth? Her father's ghost still haunted her, no denying it. And the only time it went back to it's grave was when Pitch was there beside her._

"_Are you still willing to oppose me, Darcy?" Ombric asks, placing a bony hand on her shoulder. "Do you really want to make your cousins suffer, all because of you?"_

"_No." She whispers. "No, don't hurt them anymore."_

"_Will you surrender your power to me, Darcy? Will you let me take what's yours?" Darcy nods, feeling more tears slip down her cheeks. Ombric chuckles and presses a spell into her hand. "Use this when you're ready. Simply crush it in your hand, and it will exchange you for Jamie."_

_By the time Darcy turns to look at him, he's gone._

What will her friends say if they knew what she was about to do?

No, don't think about that, hurts too much.

Sandy is working, but he manages to rifle through children's dreams to see if they've seen anything to do with Jamie. So far there is nothing.

The meeting more or less disperses and she walks over to Pitch. He opens his mouth to talk, but Darcy just shakes her head. Without another word, he pulls her into a hug, and she hugs him back, with one arm.

_I must do this._

Pitch hears the whispered "I'm sorry," and then Darcy's form shifts, alarms go off in the Fort, and for a moment, Pitch is holding nothing, then he is hugging Jamie's unconscious form and Darcy is gone.

(Line)

Darcy is in the stone room that Pitch described and she looks at Ombric with a worn out sort of loathing.

"Welcome, Darcy. Thank you for coming."

"Can we just get this over with?" She asks quietly, Ombric chuckles and approaches her. She's kneeling on the ground, a position of vulnerability, but her mind is sluggish and she doesn't realize. Her throat stings, and her chest is burning. Ombric tilts her chin up to look at him.

"Oh all right, I suppose that we can make this quick." He chuckles and reaches to her chest; Darcy refuses to flinch but she lets out a choked sound and a strangled gasp when his hand reaches _inside_ her chest.

Darcy can't speak; she makes choking, gurgling noises and tries to push him away, but she can do nothing but feel as Ombric reaches inside of her and wraps his fingers around something deep within. It HURTS! She screams and it is pulled from her body, a sphere of emerald light pulsing in Ombric's grasp.

She stares at it weakly, shuddering. She's empty, so empty.

"Goodnight Darcy, pleasant dreams." Darcy's vision slips away, and that's all she hears before she loses everything.

(Line)

"Jamie, what did Ombric want with Darcy? He must have said something to you." North asks; Jamie is in the hospital wing, staring at North with empty eyes, shuddering.

Ombric had raped him.

Jamie's so pale, Jack can hardly look at him, and his lips are chewed open.

"Please, Jamie."

Jamie looks at them with haunted eyes; glass has more life in them than his.

"He wants her Magic."

(Line)

She's sitting in a white room…why is it white? It's such a scary color…

The little girl frowns and wills the room to become a prettier shade, and from her thoughts spring golden carpet soft as kitten fur beneath her naked feet, and the walls are a gentle shade of cream, bookcases seem to grow from the walls and she laughs in glee.

This room is nice, she decides; the girl skips past the mirror; her short dark hair reaches her chin, and she's in a pale purple dress; she doesn't notice the iron collar around her neck, or the gaping hole in her chest that you can see to the other side.

As far as the girl knows, this is how she's always lived, because she doesn't know anything else, or remember anything else.

In the back of her mind though, she wonders, should she want to remember?

**Alright, now I need you folks who review to give me some serious feedback on what else you'd like to see in the story, and I'll see if I can fit it in. **

**TTFN!**


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